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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

Replaced

Genre: Heavy Angst, Angst with a somewhat happy ending.

Warning: The following piece is my take on the replaced! au with Arella. Dark themes lie ahead. If you are triggered by feelings of abandonment, suicidal ideation, or outright suicide, this mini fic is not safe for you to read. Please continue at your own discretion.

A/N: I did it guys! I actually managed to break myself with this mini fic by digging into my own abandonment issues. It was fun- cathartic almost. Please enjoy! Also, spoilers for the lesson 16 incident.

What does it feel like to be replaced? If you were to ask Arella, she’d say it felt bitter and painful. Like someone was holding a white-hot branding iron to her stomach and pushing it in to the point it ate through all the layers of her skin and was now searing through her stomach or like someone was rubbing salt into a open, festering wound.

When Diavolo had announced to the other student council officers that a new exchange student would be joining their ranks, Arella was excited- especially when she found out the new student was a female- there was only so much Arella could talk about in a house full of men and one genderless individual that they would understand, all of them having been assigned male at birth and whatnot. So, another woman among their ranks would be a breath of fresh air for her. And it was for a time being- until the brothers had taken favor to this new human.

It started within months of this new exchange student arriving. One by one, her favorite demons started hanging around her more often. It wasn't like Arella could be mad at them. This human was novel and oh so different from Arella. She was everything Arella was not, from her blonde hair to her well-developed body- even her height, which matched closer to the brothers. She was everything human world media told a girl she should be. She even looked like she fit in with them- having taken to the Devildom like a duck to water even without being able to use magic.

Arella wants to be angry with this girl, but she can’t. This girl, named Melissa, was so sweet it was almost enough to make Arella sick. She was smart, innocent, and -above all else- selfless. It was apparent the boys adored her immediately. One by one, Arella was losing them to the charms of this new girl. The first to go was Satan, clearly smitten by her love of books and knowledge of obscure but very talented authors. The second to go was Asmo, often taking her out to clubs or on long shopping trips that often lasted well past curfew. And just like that the other brothers started to follow suit. Game nights between her and Levi? Gone. Drawing up budgets with Lucifer? Not anymore. Going out with Beel to cafes? Not in her wildest dreams. Naptimes up in the attic with Belphie? Hah! Fat chance. The last and most painful to pull away was Mammon- her first man. The one who swore he would always be there for her when she needed him. And oh how she needed him.

Just like when Arella had first come to the Devildom, Mammon was given the task of watching over Melissa by Lucifer. At first Arella tried to justify it as Lucifer worrying about the girl’s safety as even though his brothers had gotten better at controlling themselves, they still had their moments.

As time went on however, she started to notice the little things. Missed movie nights between them, date nights often forgotten about in favor of showing Melissa his favorite spots around the city, the loss of any physical intimacy. Soon, he stopped seeing her all together. Things that she and Mammon did together were now reserved for Melissa: casino trips, movie nights, pranks on Lucifer that would have the eldest chasing after them, running around the city until it was nearly what could considered to be the Devildom’s equivalent of dawn. She knew he was completely gone when she walked down to the dining room for supper one evening and overheard them just casually flirting. Mammon didn’t even make any attempts to dissuade Melissa’s advances. He remembered he actually had a girlfriend, right? Right?!

Or were they even a thing anymore? It had been months since they’d spent any substantial time together outside of classes and even then, he’d moved seats to sit closer to the new human. He’d either ignore her texts or straight up just ghost her altogether. As she listened to them, she had to push down the possessive tendencies that tried to force their way out of her. She pushed them back down into the flimsily locked box they had always been contained in and burying them down in the deepest parts of her mind, forcing herself to accept that she was no longer wanted- no longer loved by the family she thought she’d found. She returned to her room for the rest of the night and for the first time since the initial weeks after arriving here on her first visit, cried herself to sleep.

The next time she interacted with any of the Avatars, it was Lucifer ordering her off to school telling her that she had better not be late and tarnish the good name Lord Diavolo and the exchange programme. Arella only nodded and promptly left the house, not even bothering to finish her morning cup of tea. The walk to school was lonely, Mammon had left earlier with Melissa and it was then, with a broken heart, Arella decided she would leave them all to their new toy. They wouldn’t bother her. They didn’t need her. At least she had Solomon and the angels, didn’t she? No, it didn’t seem to be the case either judging by the mass of unanswered texts.

As she entered class, Arella took her usual seat only hoping Mammon would choose to sit with her for once, would just choose her for once in general. But it wasn’t meant to be. Of course, it wouldn’t. Why would he bother to choose her when there was someone who was much better for him than her? Someone who wasn’t selfish or possessive or... or... worthless... She subtilty looked over her shoulder to watch as they cracked jokes and laughed together and she felt tears pool in her eyes- heart aching at the thought that she would never have that again and the sweet memories she’d made with the demon. The spot she once saved for him was now taken by another demon.

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Two months more of this- it had been eleven since Melissa joined them. None of the brothers even looked Arella’s way anymore- often forgetting she lived in the house with them in the first place. When she tried to reach out to any of them it was Melissa needs this or Melissa and I are doing this, so she just stopped. She stopped eating, stopped taking care of herself save for basic hygiene needs. No one came to check on her. There were no texts, no calls, nothing. They’d gotten all they wanted out of her and now she was like a cast aside doll. She thought about reaching out to any of them but decided against it. They were demons and she was just an insignificant human. It's not like they actually cared and Arella was a fool for allowing herself to entertain the thought.

She should just go home. But where was home? The human world held nothing for her to return to. Sure, she had that degree in biochemical engineering to fall back on but after having a taste of true happiness, would she even enjoy a life doing that? Maybe she could just go back to her original plan. The plan she had made when she first signed on to the exchange programme. 23 years was certainly long enough to experience everything life had to offer, right? She always did tell herself if the year on the exchange programme didn’t work out, she’d end it all. The idea was sounding more and more appealing by the minute.

With her mind made up, Arella swung her legs over the side of the bed. A smile was painted on her face. Her cheeks stained with tears; emerald-green eyes bleary from all the crying she’d done over the past two months. No one would miss her. They left her- abandoned for the better human like she was an unwanted pet. What did she expect though? No one ever stayed. No one ever cared. No one ever loved her enough to begin with. She was always thrown away like the trash she was after her purpose was fulfilled.

With what little strength she could muster, Arella stood as she uttered a spell and a portal opened. She gladly stepped through it, finding herself in her childhood home as it closed- a place filled with nothing but suffering and pain for her. What a fitting place for her own painful end.

“Hello, Mum, Myles... I’m... home... Isn’t it lovely... that you were right after all? I’ll be with you... soon...”

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Missing his call on her D.D.D. was the first thing that Mammon noticed. He knew he hadn’t been the best boyfriend ever since the new human arrived and the demon felt guilty for that. He’d put so much energy into helping Melissa get a date with his younger brother that he hadn’t realized how much time had actually passed- how it had been almost a year since he’d done literally anything with his girlfriend. She was probably pissed at him and rightfully so. Now that he had actually looked at his calendar, there had been so many planned dates and movie nights he had missed with her and all he wanted to do was make it up to her somehow. She probably thought he didn’t want her anymore which couldn’t have been further from the truth. He missed her- missed hanging out with her, missed the dumb jokes they would crack and the laughter that followed, missed the pranks they would play on Lucifer that often ended up with them strung up from the ceiling together. He missed the late-night cuddles and having her tucked up under his arm at night as he held her close. The bed they had once shared was considerably colder now that she was no longer there.

Mammon made his way down to her room. That was the only place she could be. Arella never left her room anymore. She always left for school earlier than anyone else too, choosing to skip breakfast outright, so Mammon couldn’t even catch her to talk then. He thought about reclaiming his seat next to his human but every morning he found her chatting up another demon that had taken his old seat. He often felt his possessiveness spike most during those times but did he even have the right to feel that way after neglecting her for the past eleven months?

As he drew closer to her room, he could see Beel knocking at her door, asking if she’d like to go visit that new café she had mentioned a couple weeks ago. When there was no answer, the Avatar of Gluttony would frown, unsure if she was just asleep or just actively ignoring him. That was the second sign something was wrong. No matter what happened, at the end of the day, Arella was always happy to entertain their whims.

“She’s not answerin’ ya, is she?” The second-born asks as the sixth-born shakes his head, looking like an abandoned puppy on the side of the road. “I’ll go in ‘n see if she’s awake. I have to talk to ‘er anyway.”

Beelzebub nodded as he left back to the kitchen- likely to eat his hurt feelings away. None of them really had the right to feel this way after they’d just ghosted their favorite human though. As he opened the door, Mammon stopped dead in his tracks. She wasn’t there, her phone lay on the bed lit up with missed texts from Asmo and Levi.

Immediately, he took off for Lucifer’s study. If anyone would know her whereabouts it would be Lucifer, right? The family patriarch had the uncanny ability to know exactly where every resident of the House of Lamentation was at any given time so long as they were still in the Devildom.

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After considering her options, Arella was left indecisive. There were a number of ways she could end her own life. She wouldn’t lie, before the exchange programme she would fantasize about the many ways she could kill herself. Would it be by hanging like she found Myles? Or perhaps she could slit her wrists like her beloved mother. If the car in the garage still worked, carbon monoxide poisoning was a valid option too. There were sleeping pills up in the medicine cabinet- a large handful of those would definitely do the trick... Ah choices, choices. As she smiled to herself, the human wondered if any of the brothers had noticed she wasn’t in the house anymore. The chances were unlikely as they were all too busy with their new human but if they had, who was it?

Would it be Asmo, Levi, Belphegor? Surely, it wouldn’t have been Mammon. He’d long since moved on, probably enjoying the start of a new relationship with Melissa. It hurt that he couldn’t have been bothered to even break up with Arella in the first place. What happened to forever? Had it all been the honeyed words of a liar?

She shook her head. It was best not to think too much on it but she still couldn’t help it. Once she was gone- once their pact faded away- would he regret this? Would he regret losing the person who loved him so unconditionally that it was almost embarrassing?

With her mind made up, Arella grabbed a knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen and carried herself up to the master bedroom where she had found her mother four years prior. As she lie on the bed, she pressed the knife to her wrist deep enough to cause substantial bleeding. She drags the blade up her arm, watching as the crimson liquid gushed from the from the wound. She thinks it’s beautiful- a fitting end for a vile creature such as herself.

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“Lucifer!”

“What, Mammon?” The eldest didn’t even bother to look up from the ever-growing stack of paperwork on his desk.

“Did Arella have plans tonight?” The Avatar of Greed asks as his brother finally looks up at him.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I also haven’t seen her all day. As her mate, you should know, shouldn’t you? As far as I’m aware, Arella hasn’t left the house and is still in her room probably practicing her mag-”

In that moment, both demons felt a sharp pain shoot up their arm as if someone had taken a knife and was drawing a line up the inside of their arm. The same pain was radiating from the places where their pact marks were located. Mammon clutched at his chest as he fell to his knees, the symbol representing his girlfriend radiating with pain that reached down to his heart. If the screams of the others were anything to go by, they felt the same thing.

“She’s not in her room!” The white-hair demon manages to gasp out. What scares him most is that he can feel their pact fading away.

Lucifer’s heart leapt up in his throat as the realization hit him. It wasn’t her practicing magic that he had sensed earlier, it was her casting a spell. She opened a portal to the human world and had gone through. He now realizes the mistake they’ve made as he remembers back to the confession she had made to him over a year ago one night when neither of them could sleep and opted for a late-night cup of tea. She had told him that he and his brothers had saved her life that first year during the exchange programme. That if things hadn’t worked out so well, she had planned to take her own life. Back then, he thought nothing much of it since the problem had resolved itself. But with how they had essentially pushed her aside in favor of Melissa, she would have felt unwanted bringing the suicidal thoughts back full force. They had to get to her and fast before it was too late.

Always fast on his feet the eldest, opens a portal of his own, knowing of only one place she would go to take her own life. Both brothers would hop through, landing in the dusty house with a thud. The smell hit them faster than either of them could process it. Blood. And a lot of it at that.

Mammon was the first to scramble for the stairs while Lucifer made a break for the phone, having forgotten his D.D.D. on his desk in the rush to get through the portal. The second-born knows the layout of Arella's house too well, having been here with her multiple times before this. Back in better times when she knew just how much he loved her. As the smell of fresh blood grows stronger, he finds her resting on the bed, a smile on her face as the knife lay between her body and the arm that was still slowly losing blood.

Faster than a flash of lightning, the demon tore his belt off and was on the bed immediately. He took her arm, fastening his belt around the upper part in a tourniquet to stop the blood flow. He shook her frantically, tears spilling down his face freely.

“Arella! Arella! C'mon, baby, wake up! Please!” His voice came out in a scream and he could only vaguely hear his brother speaking on the phone with emergency services. “We’re sorry! Don’t leave us! Don’t leave me!”

With every passing second, Mammon could feel her life slipping away through the pact that was still searing his heart. This was the price of his actions- of all their actions. Her blood was on his hands, literally. He should have done more. He should have been there. He could have called or texted or even just picked up the damn phone when she had called him, but instead just like the blood that had slipped from her arm, the Avatar of Greed let her slip through his fingers. She was gone and there was no bringing his human back this time like they had when Belphie threw her body down the stairs after he’d strangle her to death. He and his brothers had spent all that time protecting her from other demons but they couldn’t protect her from themselves.

Once the EMT’s got there, the demon stepped back from the blood-soaked bed in a state of shock- a state of disbelief. There was nothing they could do for her now. She had no pulse, no signs of life. He dropped to his knees unable to believe that his human was truly gone. His throat felt tight as more tears came. He was only just able to register the feeling of the Avatar of Pride’s embrace as they cried together- something they hadn’t done since the fall, since Lilith passed.

The two demons were informed that the coroner would arrive to collect her body shortly as they left the room. Slowly they got up, Mammon taking her body in his arms as he fought back the urge to sob. The pair returned to the House of Lamentation with Arella’s body in tow, cradled carefully in her mate’s arms. As they stepped through, they were met by their brothers and Melissa. Even the Angels, Solomon, and the Royals were there waiting.

“She’s gone,” The eldest’s voice cracked as a pained grimace formed on his face, more tears slipping down his face. Mammon couldn’t even lift his head to look them in the eyes as the crying, wailing, sobbing started.

“We didn’t deserve ‘er.” The second-born chokes on his tears, feeling utterly broken inside. “We did this to ‘er. All... All seven of us did this... She reached out to alla us ‘n we ignored ‘er.” He’s the angriest with himself.

The prince and his butler only watch on, tears in their eyes. Diavolo remembers all the good times they’ve had with Arella. The way she made the lives of the Avatars better, the fun she brought to the student council meetings, the beautiful light she’d brought to the Devildom. She’d made such an impact on the lives of all of these demons and angels. As selfish as it was, Diavolo didn’t want to let any of that go.

“Bring her back, Barbatos.” He orders and his loyal servant steps forward.

“Place her on the ground, Mammon.” Barbatos says calmly, almost as if he’s done this a thousand times and for some reason the Avatar of Greed obeys the order.

Once she’s on the ground, the green-haired demon pulls open her mouth and takes Mammon’s hand in his, producing a dagger and slicing the white-haired demon’s palm tipping it to side and allows the blood to drop into Arella’s mouth. As the crimson liquid flows down her throat, the effect is immediate- Arella's body convulsing violently before she gasps for breath as the gash along the inside of her arm heals.

Everyone- demons, angels, and humans alike- stare wide-eyed at the scene. Lucifer looks up to his longtime friend in disbelief. He had just...

“Let this teach you all a very painful lesson. I’ve given her life as a demon, do not take this chance for granted. You will not get it again. She needs rest for now, but in a day or two, Arella will reawaken.” The prince’s voice is stern as he peers down at the former human who would now become a very powerful demon. “Treat her right this time.”

It’s with that that Diavolo and Barbatos take their leave. The rest was up to the brothers now to care for her and right the wrongs they’ve made.

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The Bad Ending

Find more on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me angst #mammon angst #replaced!mc au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Little Bones 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series); harassment, general creepiness

This is dark! (biker) Thor x chubby!reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: You’re a city girl stuck in a small town, but Birch isn’t as sleepy as it seems.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown and When the Weight Comes Down

Note: So, I’ve made some positive changes in my life. I am working away at original work, I’m drinking more water, I’m taking my dog on big walks and being more active, and I’m doing my best. So, I was struck with an old yearning to return to Birch. I’ll be updating here and there as I feel and won’t be pushing myself like I did before because I realise how unhealthy and stressful it was on me.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: It gets so sticky down here

A city girl in a small town. What could be sadder than that?

In the city, life went fast. In a place like Birch, the days dragged by as if to remind you of how helpless you were beneath the unyielding and inevitable tick of the clock. The hand wound around and around as you waited for what would never happen. The dreams of your childhood eroded beneath the rolling years leaving trail of crumbs you could not follow back to the beginning.

A woman just beyond her prime trapped in an antiquated career. The empty aisles between the shelves full of books bespoke of a bygone era. The forgotten library at the far end of the main street rarely saw a new face and those familiar were fewer by the day. The staff had thinned to three of you; Melissa was older than you with a daughter nearly your age and Colin was close to retirement if not well past.

You got on well enough, as well as you could given Colin’s faulty hearing aid, and Melissa’s wandering mind. They meant well but they shared the lethargy of the old small town.

You weren’t nostalgic for the smog or the flashing lights of the city, but there was no life to this place. Only the impending reach of death rattling closer in the roar of the motorcycles and the rumble of the old railroad that ran through the middle of town.

The air nipped at your cheeks as you approached the library. A morning of yawning had you craving a latte from the bakery and the quiet girl behind the counter cheerfully steamed the foam before handing it over. Everyone in this town was familiar, everyone knew everyone else, and yet, you still felt like an outsider.

You felt the heat of the cup through your glove and you looked up as you sensed two figures by one of the thick columns of the library façade. Melissa stood chatting with her daughter, hugging her sweater around her as she’d left her coat inside. You peeked up at the grey sky as snow threatened at any moment with the mid-November bite.

As you thought to pass them and leave their conversation uninterrupted, your name drew you back.

“I was just telling my daughter,” Mel began as she waved you over with a chatter of her teeth. “About that podcast you mentioned. She loves those old Hollywood stars.”

“Oh,” you blew the steam away from the lid of your drink as you neared, “It’s alright. The stories are worth the narrator’s schtick.”

“Yeah? I’ve been closing at the bar and I like to listen to something once it clears out.” Mel’s daughter said. “You wouldn’t mind giving me the name?”

You told her the title of the podcast and helped her find it on Spotify to follow for later. Mel shivered and stood closer to her daughter who was bundled up against the onslaught of Birch’s blustering winter. You knew about her too.

She was friendly but you saw in her a cynicism more common to city folk. You got along but you were weary of her associations. The local club of crass bikers were neither subtle nor savoury. In the city, it was easy enough to ignore the patch and all that came along with it. The seedy figures were distilled by the broader population but not in Birch. There, the club was the town.

“Mom, you can’t stay out here.” She poked her mother’s arm. “It’s too cold.”

“Little better in the library.” You grumbled and sipped your latte. “The radiator’s broken again.”

“You mean Colin broke it trying to fix what wasn’t broken,” Melissa shook her head, “and I’m fine, dear. I’ve spent more than fifty winters in Birch and been through worse than this.”

“Yes, but you were younger then--” Her voice dwindled as she turned her head to listen to the distant roar of exhaust.

You followed her gaze and noted the way her forehead creased at the noise. She swallowed and turned to watch as a dark rider turned onto the main road from the highway. It was the man who kept her entwined with the club, the one who marked her latent authority over all others. The only one who outranked her.

She swore and looked over her shoulder at her mother. Her mother touched her arm. It was a telling and surprising moment. Her expression read of all the disgust you felt for the bikers.

At least a dozen bikes followed the first and Bucky raised his glove hand to signal the others to slow as he pulled up to the curb just before the library steps. You backed away as his breath clouded around him and he waved Mel’s daughter closer. He craned to kiss her as she bent, her fingers picking at her jeans as she did, then he nodded his greeting to Mel.

“What are you doing?” He asked tersely.

“Can’t I see my mother?” The daughter challenged and the biker scoffed.

“Of course,” he killed his engine and the others mimicked him in fine order. “I wouldn’t keep ya from her but you didn’t tell me you were going downtown.”

“You were gone.”

You listened to the conversation as you stayed close to the column, thinking of sneaking up the steps into the library before you heard too much. Your curiosity had you searching the crowd of leather jackets as their wearers tried to conceal their impatience with their boss’ impromptu halt.

Among them, a large man sat casually in his seat, his feet planted on the cold pavement as he rolled slightly back and forth. Strands of his thick blond hair were drawn back beneath his helmet into a thick braid as the rest hung around his shoulders. His patch was different from the rest, an old Norse symbol you didn’t know the meaning of. There were several others who wore the same cut, including a dark-haired woman who chatted with another golden-haired rider.

You tasted your latte again, it cooled quickly as the cold air battered the cardboard. As you sipped and sidled around the column, your eyes were caught by another pair. The very man you’d just been watching was now focused on you. You stopped, hoping like some frightened animal that your stillness would ward off his attention.

“Barnes,” the broad blonde man spoke as he finally looked away. “You’ve not even introduced me to your woman. I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”

Bucky shifted on his bike and sighed. You hadn’t expected the man to have an accent. His voice was deep but the subtle lilt defined his tone as unforgettable. The dark-haired biker of Birch rolled his eyes before he pointed to his girl and gave her name, then to Melissa as he explained their relation.

You sidestepped around the column to the stairs of the library and turned away. You were stopped again by the same voice.

“And that one? The quiet one?”

You spun back slowly and looked at each biker, many unconcerned with conversation, as a few stared back at you or at the viking-like rider. Bucky shook his head and furrowed his brow at Melissa’s daughter. She hesitated before she gave your name coolly referred to you as just another librarian. She was trying to deflect the focus and you were thankful for it. You wondered at her own blatant spite for that breed of man.

“No one important,” Bucky grabbed his keys. “Come on, honey. I’ll give you a ride back.”

“I can walk.”

“Get on.” He said gruffly and turned the keys.

The motorcycles thrummed back to life in a cacophony. You flinched and turned back to the library doors. Your lunch was almost over as it was and the cold was starting to make your head hurt. You heard the bikes tear off as you reached the door and you turned back to watch as Melissa ran up after you.

You held the door for her and paused as you watched riders tear away. The blonde remained and watched you with a smirk. He winked as he slowly rolled after the others and pushed off. You followed Melissa inside and pulled the door shut tightly behind you.

“I’ll finish the returns,” you slipped past her, “you should try to warm up.”

“Thanks, dear,” she rubbed her hands together as she neared the curve desk you all shared, “God, that man makes my skin crawl.”

“But your daughter--”

“She handles him as well as she can,” Melissa sat and logged onto her boxy PC, “she’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.”

You sat and chewed on the thought. You just assumed her daughter leaped at the opportunity to date the most powerful man in town. What else could a girl from Birch hope for?

“She doesn’t…”

“He keeps her safe, I guess,” Melissa muttered, “I don’t say nothing against it. I won’t, for her sake as much as mine.”

You lowered your lashes and turned to the stack of unscanned books. You took the first and opened the cover.

“I didn’t mean to-- I don’t really know anything about the… bikers.”

“Hope you never do, dear,” she said listlessly. “Those men, if you can call them that, are the lowest form of humanity.”

💀

You always took the same route home. It wasn’t very far. You lived in the studio apartment above Tammy’s, the clothes shop where all the local seniors got their outdated outfits. The store itself smelled like a retirement home but you were not often disturbed by the activity below. Like everything in Birch, it wasn’t very exciting.

Your walk took you past the diner and along the stretch across the street from the town’s sentinel, The Asp. The bar was the only place in town which always seemed to be bursting with life. You had an old Chevrolet parked behind the building but you never drove to work, only on your odd trip to the city to get away from the suffocation malaise of main street.

That day as you fumbled to get your earbud back in, you heard a whistle. You got a few comments now and again about your habit of blocking out the townsfolk and the town itself with your music. In the city, you didn’t just say hi to every person you walked by and you had little inclination to change that habit.

You kept going and the whistle came louder. You heard boots hammer across the street and you stopped as the earbud once more fell out of your ear.

“Eh, kitten,” you turned to the long-haired biker. A golden hammer hung from a chain and peaked out from the open collar of his jacket. He tucked his hands in his pockets as you faced him with blatant irritation. “We didn’t get to meet properly, did we?”

You stared at him and let out a foggy breath. You leaned on your left heel and shook your head with a scoff.

“No.” You said and turned back along your path.

“No?” He repeated and his footsteps followed closely. “I’m only being friendly, kitten. I’m not from around here and I’m just tryn’ ta make a few friends.”

“I’m not interested,” you march onward and stop short.

You realised if you went any further, you’d lead him straight to your door. You didn’t need him knowing where you lived. You veered off and crossed the street, he stayed close just like your shadow. You’d stop by the liquor store and wait him out there.

“Where are you going, kitten?”

“Can’t you take a hint?” You nearly tangled your own legs as you pivoted sharply. “I’m sorry for your luck that you’ve ended up in Birch but I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you.” You grasped the handle of the liquor store door. “Oh, and my name isn’t kitten.”

“I know your name. I remember it.” He grinned and you swung open the door. He caught it behind you and you let out a frustrated sigh as he trailed you inside. “It’s almost as gorgeous as you.”

“Do those work on the women where you’re from?”

You stared at the shelf of fruit wines and tried to ignore him. You were starting to build a real thirst for the bottles.

“I don’t meet a lot of women like you, kitten.”

“Would you stop it--” You blinked and stomped further down the aisle.

“Thor. My name’s Thor.” He offered gallantly. “But you can call me whatever you wish.”

“I could think of a few things.” You bent down to read the label of a wine from the Maritimes.

“Mmm, my thoughts run wild, kitten.” He purred and you looked up at him in confusion.

You swiped the bottle from the shelf and stood straight. His eyes clung to your ass and as you turned, they swiftly found your chest. Neither were well-hidden by your jacket, even as thick as it was. Your weight often deterred the whistles and the leers, but not this time.

“How many ways can I tell you to go away?” You hissed and move to step around him. He turned and watched you pass. He shivered as you brushed against him unwillingly in the narrow aisle.

“So, you got a man?” He questioned as again he tailed you to the counter. You grabbed a small bottle of Vodka from the rack beside it and dug out your wallet.

“Does it matter?”

He bent and leaned on the counter beside you and you ignored his attempt to look you in the face. You paid and took your change as the clerk bagged your purchase.

“To me, everything about you matters, kitten.”

You shot him a sharp look and took your paper bag. You hugged it close and glared at him as he straightened. “Stop calling me that.”

“Here,” he gripped the top of the bag, “I’ll help.”

“I’ll smash this bottle over your head,” you threatened. “Now I’ve told you to leave me alone.”

He chuckled and dipped his head. His hair slid down the leather and he scratched his thick beard.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I like to play.”

He looked at you again, his blue eyes twinkling. You were startled as suddenly he ‘woofed’’ at you. You backed away and he kept close as is to chase you, ready to salivate like the dog he mimicked.

“Get away!” You shouted and raced for the door.

His barks turned to laughter and the bell announced your stagger out onto the street. You didn’t look back as you charged across the street and narrowly missed being mowed down by Linda Karling. You reached the other side as you heard the liquor store door clatter a second time. You sensed his shadow as you turned down a side street.

You walked until you were certain he wasn’t following. The cold blew up your jacket as you mapped out your way back. You could sneak around the back of the clothes shop and sneak up the metal escape. You peered back and forth, the old house just at the town limits nearly faded into the dimming sky and main street shrouded by brick walls.

“Hey,” a small voice surprised you as a woman neared, walking the same route as you. “Whatcha doing all the way up here?”

You stared at her dumbly. It was the woman who worked at the bakery. She hung out with the club too.

“Nothing, I…” You grabbed your earbuds and put them back in your ears. “I was listening to my music and got carried away.”

“Oh?” she chittered like a mouse. “No one comes this way. Only me to see my ma.”

You nodded at her and gave an awkward smile. “Mmhmm. Well, thanks. I probably would’ve wandered right out of town.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she said forlornly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For your latte. And you always get the banana loaf when it’s on special and tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

You sniffed and rubbed your neck. You hated that. You hated that everyone knew you, that everyone knew what you did, and that they assumed they knew everything else. But she was sweet and you couldn’t hate her for never being freed from the prison of Birch.

“Oh yeah,” you squeezed the paper bag so it crinkled and pulled out your phone with your free hand, “tomorrow.”

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rmnamjoons · 4 years

Text

Taking Flight [KNJ Oneshot]

➳ summary: More than a decade after the alien invasion that wiped out most of the planet, you and Namjoon are both in the Pilot Cadet Corps, training for if the alien attackers ever come back. What begins as a playful rivalry between two overachievers develops into a deep friendship and emotional bond, but when the aliens suddenly return and you and Namjoon are separated, you find out just what you’re willing to do to get back to him.

➳ pairing: pilot!Namjoon x pilot!reader

➳ genre: smut, sci fi au, post apocalypse au, alien invasion au, rivals to friends to lovers

➳ word count: 15.2k

➳ read on ao3, link to my masterlist

➳ tags: smut, reunion sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, emotional loving sex, soft dom namjoon, dirty talk (no degradation), rivals to friends to lovers, sexually charged fight/sparring scene when they’re rivals, previously seemingly unrequited love/mutual pining, shower sex, multiple positions, namjoon is needy and so in love

➳ warnings: unnamed character death/death mention, blood mention, injury mention/vague description

➳ a/n: I know this is kind of a niche genre for smut fics; I primarily wrote this for myself, and I definitely had fun and like what I came up with! What’s the point of fanfiction anyway, if not to have fun? Also, this takes place over a few years, and I tried to portray how Namjoon was feral and angry when he was younger but is now a loving gentle giant. Enjoy!

Everybody lost someone in the attacks that killed most of the planet. Friends. Family. Partners. You had lost everything and everyone, like most people who’d lived in the cities that no longer had names — what once had been centers of commerce, tourism, and civilization were now nothing more than craters, and with so few left who remembered them, what they’d once been were now lost to time.

You'd only survived by chance, really. You and your family had been in a tunnel leaving the city, on foot like everyone else, and when everything had turned to chaos, you’d gotten lost from your parents and sister. You still remembered the way people screamed and ran through the tunnel, their voices echoing harshly off the cement walls. You’d spotted someone hiding off to the side in a utility room in the tunnel, and when the blast hit the city center, that person had made you hide in the room too, their body shielding yours from the hellfire, melting around you.

You were five years old then. You were pretty sure your sister had been eight. You couldn’t remember what your parents or sister looked like, or your house, or where you’d gone to school, other than vague flashes and shapes of people who’d once been your whole world. All you’d had with you were the clothes on your back, and even those had been taken away once you’d gotten somewhere safe and been given something clean to change into.

After the ships fell and surviving aliens left, it had taken years to clear the rubble and start over. The attacks that changed and destroyed everything had also been a gift, or so they now preached, in which humanity was able to grow, learn, and become united. The religions and cults who now worshiped the alien attackers believed humanity had deserved extermination, but you liked the more academic approach to the alien race’s lessons: the technology humans had been able to reverse engineer from their fallen ships.

One of the many ways humanity had advanced in the last few years was flight technology. Planes were faster, turned sharper, could go farther, burned cleaner energy. The one thing everyone seemed to agree on was how important Earth’s planes had been in beating them, so that was where all the technology and progress was focused now.

You loved planes and flying, you always had, but the real reason you wanted to be a pilot, you held much closer to your chest: your entire life, you always felt like the attacks when you were young were just the beginning. Like an unhealthy obsession or open wound, it was all you could think about sometimes, what drove your every decision, what led you to the Pilot Cadet Corps. You wanted to be part of the team that took them down if they ever came back. You wanted to be ready.

You were eighteen when you’d joined the Corps. You’d jumped on that opportunity the first moment you were able, without so much as a second glance back at what you left behind. You’d been adopted fairly soon after the attacks, but your adopted parents never felt much like family.

The first full year of Corps was bootcamp. Bunk rooms were co-ed, and every moment of your lives was dictated down to the second. You woke up at six in the morning and ran laps around the track. You had as much free time as you earned between whenever you finished your laps and when breakfast started at seven: the faster you ran, the more free time you got.

Eight to noon was physical training. After lunch was different depending on the day: three days a week you had mental training for whatever field you were going into, mostly flight simulation for the pilots. Another day was more combat training, and the last was an alternate, for first aid, written tests, marksmanship, and other courses along those lines. After that you had more physical training, like sparring and hand-to-hand combat, then dinner, then free time. Lights out was strictly at ten-thirty every night, and then you’d start it all over again the next day.

Now, you stood in line with the other cadets training to be pilots, waiting to hear your class ranks. Every month, they would announce a ranking of all cadets, a score averaged in test results, simulator scores, and overall performance. The better you ranked, the better your placement once you graduated.

“Third place, Park. Eighty-nine point nine,” the sergeant read off, making a small boy a few rows away from you puff up his chest in pride. You weren’t sure why anyone would feel proud of not getting an A, but you pushed that thought away.

You swallowed hard, holding your breath. There were only two spots left, and if you’d scored higher than Park, that meant you got an A and were either in second or first place out of the whole class. You didn’t know everyone’s names yet, so you weren’t sure who you were competing with.

“Second place, Y/L/N. Ninety-five point two.”

You heard the impressed murmur of others in the class before all of them were silenced by a firm look from the sergeant. Your heart sank, your hands curling into tight fists. Second place? You’d been so sure before now that you were working harder than all the other cadets. You were smarter than them, faster, more focused. Who the fuck had beaten you?

“First place, Kim. Ninety-five point three.”

Your brow furrowed. You weren’t sure who this Kim was, but you set your jaw, becoming determined to learn everything about them so you could beat them. Whatever their weaknesses were, you’d find them and exploit them.

You snuck a glance around you, trying to figure out who Kim was, and nearly jumped out of your skin when the tall boy next to you made eye contact with you, raising one eyebrow in the most smug, cocky, asshole-ish look you’d ever seen. That one singular eyebrow quirk, the corner of his lip curling up barely noticeably, all of it made you want to seethe and strangle him.

You’d noticed this man before, but had never thought much of him. He was taller than all the other men, but he hadn’t come off as particularly smart or extraordinary. This guy was the one who’d beaten you?

Now that you looked at him, you noticed he was definitely very muscular. Had he beaten your score through his strength? You could work harder at weight lifting and beat him. Were his test scores perfect? You could make yourself study even more.

Whatever it was that made him first place, you’d find out and beat him.

II.

In the following weeks, you began to wonder how you’d ever missed Kim Namjoon.

You and Namjoon both worked harder than everyone else. You both trained longer, started earlier in the morning and kept going until you were the last ones left. You both pushed yourselves harder than all of your other classmates, academically and physically. Before he was placed first in the class, you hadn’t even noticed him, but now he was the bane of your existence, and you existed only to beat him and come out on top.

You were faster and more agile, but Namjoon was by far stronger. You almost wanted to dispute the scoring system; what use was strength for a pilot? You weren’t soldiers. He needed fast reflexes and precision, not fighting skills or the ability to deadlift two hundred pounds. Was he planning on picking up planes and throwing them at the alien ships? It was so stupid.

The second month of bootcamp, you were the top of the class, and Namjoon was second place now. You smiled smugly to yourself and kept your eyes focused forward, staying perfectly at attention like the other cadets, but you could feel his eyes on you and almost sense his focused anger, that same emotion you’d felt when he’d first beaten you.

After the ranking announcements, you went to combat training in the gym, but your instructor called out both your name and Namjoon’s before you could even get started.

“I want the two of you to spar,” the instructor said as the two of you ran up. “No rules, just fighting. You can use boxing, wrestling, martial arts, whatever you want — just don’t kill each other.”

You narrowed your eyes at Namjoon, almost expecting him to refuse to fight you, for being a girl. Besides occasional glares, the two of you had never so much as said a word to each other, but you figured smug alpha male assholes were all the same.

But instead, Namjoon smiled and said, “All right.” He almost seemed eager to get in the ring and teach you a lesson.

Now, you eyed him from across the ring, how he was watching you with a smug little smirk as he wrapped his knuckles.

“To win, pin the other person’s back to the mat for five full seconds,” your instructor said carefully. “Their back has to fully touch the ground, not just shoulders. They don’t have to be conscious to be pinned.”

You and Namjoon made eye contact at that.

“Whoever wins doesn’t have to run laps next week. Loser runs double laps before eating. You both ready?”

You and Namjoon ended up drawing a crowd of spectators.

The moment the instructor said start, you ran, jumped, and wrapped your legs around his head, twisting and throwing him to the ground so that he was on his back and you stood over his head, smirking down at his stupid surprised face.

He’d hit the mat hard, the breath completely knocked out of him. A few people in the crowd murmured quietly to themselves and quietly asked each other if the fight was already over. You let out a shaky breath, letting yourself feel proud for a split second as you glanced at the spectators, but before you could register what was happening, Namjoon grabbed you by both your legs, making you twist and fall hard on your back, too.

You tried to crawl away from him, but he just pulled you under him by your legs, climbing on top of you and trying to hold you down with his hands. You arched your back as high as you could, touching the mat only with your shoulders and ass as Namjoon fought to grab your wrists. He was on top of you, straddling your abdomen and trying to keep you down without actually touching your chest, and you watched him bite his lip and heard him growl as he focused on not getting hit while you thrashed beneath him.

You brought your leg up and kneed his kidney as hard as you could, making him groan before moving back to pin your legs down too. You could now easily keep your back fully off the mat, but he was straddling you much lower now, bending over you and still trying to grab your arms. This close, you could smell him, his sweat and masculine scent mixed with the cheap soap you all were given, and you had to push aside the fact you kind of liked the way he smelled.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each deep breath. You watched Namjoon as he glanced down at your breasts, before his eyes snapped back up at your face, his eyes wide as if he were surprised he’d let himself look.

“Having fun?” you teased, smirking up at him.

“Tons,” he growled, finally catching one of your hands and pinning it down by your wrist.

You hooked your leg up as far as you could, wrapping it around him and using his close proximity to your advantage. This seemed to catch Namjoon very off guard, and you felt more than heard him make a noise in surprise as you essentially embraced him, not giving him any space to move or do anything as you pulled your hand free and wrapped all your limbs around him, hanging off of him like a leach.

Namjoon sat back on his knees, and you held onto him, your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, waiting for your moment to use his weight against him and throw him on his back. He was squirming and wearing himself out, while you just squeezed him, hard enough you heard something in him crack.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled, trying to pry you off of him. Before you could answer, he grabbed you by your hair and jerked your head backwards, making you gasp and cry out. He started to force you off by getting his hands between your bodies, but you surprised him, grabbing his throat with both hands and squeezing.

Namjoon forcefully brought his hands down on your arms, bending them so that you let go of his neck, and now you were much closer to his face, nearly nose to nose as he still sat there on his knees with you hanging off of him. He held your wrists with both hands now as you tried to struggle free from him, and when you realized you couldn’t, you twisted one wrist, bringing his hand up to your mouth and biting down as hard as you could on the meat of his thumb.

He yelped and let go of you, but before you could use the moment to your advantage, he grabbed you and pushed you off of him, throwing you down away from him while he scrambled back and looked at his hand.

Your body bounced as you hit the mat, rolling a few times until you slammed against the edge of the ring. Namjoon was back on you before you could react, and you felt him behind you, trying to roll you over so he could pin you down on your back again. You brought your head back hard and connected with his nose, making him jump back again.

When you looked back at him, Namjoon was standing across the ring, holding his nose and glaring at you as you jumped to your feet too.

You circled each other for a moment, both closely watching the other’s every move like prey.

His nose was bleeding heavily, both of you out of breath and covered in sweat. You were pretty sure you had a bruised rib from him throwing you, your lungs burning from exertion from the fight. Everyone who’d been in the gym was now watching, none of them speaking as the two of you circled each other.

You ran at each other at the same time, Namjoon throwing a swing that you easily ducked. While his momentum was off, you punched him hard in the stomach, making him bend over in pain.

He was being sloppy, maybe distracted from his pain and anger, or maybe he was just more of a big clumsy oaf who relied on strength alone than you’d thought. You knew he was smart based on his test scores, but none of that appeared to translate to agility or finesse. He was fighting clumsy and angry, but you only felt more focused now, catching yourself smiling as you almost enjoyed yourself.

When you tried to strike him again, moving to hit your elbow between his shoulders while he was bent over, he turned and reached up, grabbing your neck with both hands. You broke his hold easily, and used that moment to bring your hand up and smack his injured nose.

Namjoon groaned in pain, holding his nose again. You grabbed his free hand, twisting it until he turned around and fell to his knees, yelling in pain, his arm bent painfully behind his back. You now stood behind him, Namjoon unable to move unless he wanted you to break or dislocate his arm, you on your feet with him on his knees.

“Do you forfeit?” you said, pulling his arm up another inch and making him hiss in pain. You could see how much he was sweating and panting, and ignored the way it sent a shiver of lust through you.

“You play dirty,” he seethed. Just standing close to him, you could feel the way heat radiated off of him. You’d noticed before that he was a sweaty guy, but now he was shining with it.

“I seem to remember being told that there were no rules for this fight,” you said, smiling proudly to yourself as you held the large man in place with one hand.

Instead of responding, Namjoon threw himself backwards into you, knocking you off your feet. You were on your back now and he was on his back on top of you, pinning you there. He had to have at least pulled his arm out of socket doing that move, and his body tensed from the pain, but he didn’t stop.

Namjoon pushed down with his shoulders as hard as he could, arching his back and standing up on his feet, bending his legs to put even more weight on just his shoulders to trap you there under him. You were crushed by him, barely able to breathe, let alone keep yourself fully off the mat.

He was so big and heavy, his shoulders wide enough to pin your arms down. You did the only thing you could think to do in the moment, what you hoped would give you an advantage again. You leaned in and bit down where his shoulder met his neck, the same side his arm was dislocated, and you bit down hard.

Namjoon yelped in surprise and pain, and you wrapped your arms around him in a chokehold so that when he tried to roll away, you went with him. He twisted in your arms until he was on top of you, facing you again, and this time you brought your knee up hard between his legs, his eyes closing as he groaned in agony.

You easily pushed him off and got on top of him, straddling his chest and pinning him down. Your knees pressed your full weight down on his biceps, including his injured arm, which made him groan in pain with every harsh exhale. He arched his back and tried to push you off of him, but he could barely move or reach you, his arms both pinned outward.

“Tired of getting your ass kicked yet?” you goaded, raising an eyebrow when Namjoon glared up at you. “How were you ever the top of our class? This is a little too easy.”

“Fuck you,” he growled, seething hard, blood all over his mouth and chin from his broken nose. His back still wasn’t technically on the ground though, so you needed to think of a way to make him stay down.

You were straddling his chest, so you moved your hips forward suddenly before throwing your whole body back, slamming yourself down hard and completely knocking the wind out of him. You simultaneously knocked him down so that his back was against the mat, and purposefully hit the back of your head against his crotch, which had to still be hurting from when you’d just kneed him a minute ago, so that he wouldn’t have the strength to get himself back up for a few seconds. You heard what you thought was a crack, which you really hoped wasn’t his crotch, before you heard and felt him groaning in pain.

The instructor counted out, and you won. You immediately jumped off of him and looked down at the damage.

Blood covered Namjoon’s chin, mouth, and neck, all from his nose wound, which you’d smacked more than once. He was bleeding from the bite on his neck, and his shoulder did not look right, pulled painfully out of socket and potentially broken. He rolled onto his side away from you and moaned, the hand of his arm that wasn’t dislocated over his crotch as he curled up in a ball on the ground.

“You all right?” you asked cautiously, stepping out of the way as the instructor rushed in to help him. Namjoon held up his middle finger to you, closing his eyes as he tried to breathe steadily.

You snorted in amusement and went off to the locker room to shower.

That night, Namjoon limped into dinner.

You were sitting by yourself at a table near the back, reading a book written by a pilot from before the attacks. Namjoon sat down across from you, as if sitting together was something the two of you normally did.

His nose was badly bruised and taped up, definitely broken. Judging by the limp he’d come in with, you’d messed up something below deck. His arm seemed to have been popped back in socket, but you could see the bruising spreading over his collarbone under his t-shirt, and his arm was in a sling. He had bite marks on his neck and hand, and the one on his neck had needed stitches.

You tried not to smile to yourself.

“Y/L/N?” he asked, like he wasn’t sure of your name, like you two weren’t rivals constantly competing and you hadn’t kicked his ass a few hours ago.

“Kim,” you said, returning the formality.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, so you went back to eating, trying not to look over at him. He rested his non-injured hand on his stomach, and you wondered if you’d broken one of his ribs or if he was just hungry.

“You planning on eating?” you asked him after a moment.

Namjoon actually smiled, laughing to himself weakly.

“I don’t think I even have the energy to walk across the room to get food,” he murmured, his voice a little deeper than usual.

Without a word, you stood, walking straight across the room to get another plate of food. When you returned and placed it in front of him, he looked up at you with wide eyes, confused and shocked by your gesture.

“Do you need me to cut it up for you, too?” you teased, though glancing at his arm, you wondered if he’d actually need that.

Namjoon shook his head after a moment, glancing down at his plate.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. You saw a small, genuine smile on his lips, and you realized then for the very first time that he had dimples.

III.

The following week came, as did Namjoon’s punishment week for losing the sparring match. The first morning, you noticed him waking up earlier than everyone else to go start his laps, since he had to do double. You quickly got dressed and followed.

You ran up beside him as he slowly jogged around the track.

“What are you doing?” He looked over at you, furrowing his brow but not stopping.

“Running laps,” you answered flatly.

You ran the same number of laps as he did that morning, despite having won the right not to run this week. Namjoon, you learned, had a broken rib and pulled groin in addition to all the other stuff you’d done to him, and he’d been given an out and didn’t have to run any laps after all. Your instructor had told him that he needed to focus on healing and not accidentally hurt himself more. He didn’t have to do combat training or anything else physical until he was healed, but he still ran his punishment laps anyway, completely by choice, and so you ran them too, matching his pace the entire time, neither of you saying a word to the other.

Despite getting his ass kicked in the sparring match, the rest of the cadets viewed Namjoon as almost a superhero after that. They respected how well he’d taken a beating; he was the guy who kept fighting, even with half a dozen injuries and multiple broken bones. You were the only one who’d been able to best him, using just your speed to outwit him, and now the rest of the class respected you both even more. Namjoon was a nearly unstoppable tank, and you were the lithe fox that beat him.

As boot camp continued, you and Namjoon continued your quiet friendship, neither of you the overly gushy or warm type, both focused only on training. You studied together, and started helping each other instead of competing. Both of you only improved your scores and times.

Namjoon helped you with your physical training, helping you get stronger. You helped him with his marksmanship, precision, and speed. You regularly sparred and fought and pushed each other further. You studied together, fought together, ate together, did everything together.

The first year of Corps ended, and you entered the second year. This was more specialized, focused on specifically becoming a pilot with more time on flight training instead of physical and military training, which you still definitely had a lot of.

Your class was smaller now, but you still slept in a co-ed barrack. You and Namjoon picked spots next to each other this year.

One night during winter break, almost everyone else had gone home for the week, the two of you essentially having the base to yourselves. It was well past midnight and after lights out, but you and Namjoon laid in your beds talking quietly, both on your sides facing each other. You only had about a foot of space between your beds, and you could just barely make out his face in the dark.

Namjoon told you that he remembered the attacks, losing his family, everything. He’d had a sister too, and had lived in a suburb, not one of the cities. He didn’t explain further, but said that he remembered what happened to his family, and that he’d been found in the woods by himself weeks later. He’d only been seven years old at the time, and you wondered how the hell he’d made it on his own for so long.

You got the feeling he was used to being on his own, and didn’t let himself get attached to anything or anyone. Part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, put your hand on his shoulder and tell him he didn’t have to be alone anymore. But instead you sighed, ignoring the way his sad eyes made your heart ache.

IV.

Your second year turned into your third, and you and Namjoon only became closer. You both planned to go on to a fourth year of training, even though it wasn’t required, as it would give you higher credentials and clearance when you finished. Both of you still strived to be perfect, after all.

Halfway through your third year together, you realized Namjoon was the closest thing you had to family. You both saw each other pretty much every moment of every day. You both didn’t leave the base for holidays, so the longest you’d been apart since first meeting was a few hours, at most.

You were constantly together, even when you didn’t need to be. You woke up early and ran laps, even though you were no longer required to — only first year cadets ran laps, but you both continued because… you didn’t know why, and you didn’t question it. You loved running with him.

That first year together, Namjoon had been stoic and quiet. He didn’t talk much, unless directly questioned, and even then he kept his answers as concise as possible. You weren’t exactly talkative, but when the two of you talked to each other alone, especially in the past few years, Namjoon began coming out of his shell. When he wasn’t guarded and quiet, he was warm and funny, almost loving in his own kind of way. You got the feeling he was naturally full of love, but had pushed that part of himself down in the years he’d spent alone and in shelters.

Now, you were giving Namjoon a haircut. His hair grew weirdly fast, and there were rules about keeping everything, including hair, perfectly in uniform. Men had to have very short hair and be clean-shaven, which meant Namjoon had to get a haircut basically every other week.

When it was warm you did this outside, but now it was winter and you were in the locker room. While you worked, you talked about upcoming tests and other little things. You kept catching Namjoon looking up at you as you stood in front of him, between his spread legs, and he seemed to be getting bolder, watching your face outright instead of just stealing glances.

“Close your eyes and tilt your head back,” you mumbled, trying to hide the fact you were blushing and flustered. Namjoon listened without a word, and you let yourself look at him for just a second; your faces were close, even with him sitting and you standing, because of how tall he was. You’d been obsessed with his lips lately, finding yourself fantasizing about them at the most inopportune times, thinking about how soft and full they looked and wondering what they’d feel like against your own.

Before you could pull yourself from your thoughts and start on the front of his hair, the power suddenly cut out.

You let out a small gasp, but this wasn’t exactly surprising around here. The power went out often because of the testing they were doing with switching over completely to alien tech for larger power structures. Still, you’d gasped in surprise because you’d been so focused on Namjoon’s face, and now the two of you were alone together in a dark locker room.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked, his hands coming up to rest on your hips.

Of course you were okay; the lights had just gone off.

“Yeah,” you answered anyway. You moved your hands from over his head to his shoulders, feeling him in the dark.

“It’ll be back on in a second, we’re okay,” he said, his thumbs moving slightly, like he was trying to comfort you.

“I know,” you said, your voice sounding small. You weren’t afraid at all, but you didn’t want him to stop what he was doing.

The lights came back on then, and you looked down at him. Namjoon smiled up at you, dimples on full display, and it nearly took your breath away. He had a little piece of cut hair on his cheek, which you gently brushed away, and he wrinkled his nose at you, making your heart ache.

You finished giving him his haircut, and afterwards he pulled off his shirt and went over to one of the showers, to wash off the pieces of hair you’d cut. You gathered up the electric razor and your other belongings while you heard him undressing behind you, turning on the shower and humming happily to himself.

You stopped yourself from looking at him as you walked out of the room and went back to the barracks, refusing to let yourself think about him showering or the way he’d looked at you.

VI.

Your last year of training was mostly just the two of you working together and with various superior officers. You’d get promotions and rank changes after some time in the field, but you’d start out as Senior Airmen, and would probably both make Staff Sergeant within a few years of graduating. There were no wars or active duty anymore, but it meant you’d both be given leadership positions, if ever the need arose.

After graduation, you and Namjoon would both receive your assignments and placements. You’d both requested to be placed together, without requesting anything else. You could be sent anywhere in the world, given any position; you didn’t care where you ended up though, as long as you were with him.

Since it was your last year, you were both given proper rooms instead of barracks. The rooms were small and minimal, but your room was right across from Namjoon’s. You spent a lot of time in each other’s rooms, even sometimes sleeping over.

Now, you laid on Namjoon’s bed in his room, while he sat at the chair by his desk with his feet propped up on the end of his bed. He was playing with a stress ball, passing it back and forth between his hands. You’d finished all your testing and training, so you were both basically just resting until graduation, anticipating your placements. It was late at night, the rest of the base quiet and sleeping.

“Dream placement,” you said, turning your head and pointing at him. “Go.”

“Oh, man…” Namjoon rolled his head back, looking at the ceiling. “Southern California.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “What’s in Southern California, besides desert?”

“That’s the closest base to where the first ship went down. They’ve got the best tech out there, the best planes.”

“Okay, true,” you sighed. “But there’s nothing out there for miles. There’d be nothing to do.”

“What else is there, besides flying?” Namjoon threw the little ball he was playing with gently so it bounced off the wall beside you and landed on your stomach.

“I like flying and being able to see something besides sand, rock, and craters for hundreds of miles,” you said, tossing the ball back to him.

“You feel like you’re going faster if you don’t have anything to look at,” he said, catching the ball with one hand and tossing it behind him onto his desk.

“You also get lost easier,” you laughed, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Not if you’re a good navigator,” Namjoon laughed too, standing up and moving onto the bed with you. He wasn’t exactly tickling you, but he was touching your body and you were both giggling as he laid down beside you.

“If you want to feel like you’re going fast, then just go fast,” you said, your hands on his shoulders now as you grinned up at him. He was partially on top of you, partially beside you as he smiled down at you, his mouth so close to yours.

“I want to go even faster,” he said, but he stilled suddenly, looking down at you with wide eyes. He seemed to have suddenly realized the position the two of you were in, and he moved so that he was just beside you, laying on his side as you laid on your back.

You sighed. It was always like this — not that you were complaining, because you loved the relationship you already had with him. But lately, you’d get so close, almost kissing, almost embracing, almost something, and then he’d back off. You still loved the moments before, where you could forget that you were just friends and pretend you were something more, as much as it ended up hurting your heart in the long run.

Even now, you loved this. Namjoon propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you as you continued talking, a different topic now. Your mouths were only a few inches apart. It would be so easy for him to just lean down and kiss you, like you wanted him to so badly.

Namjoon’s hand that wasn’t supporting his head rested on your stomach. You put your hands there too, playing with him, feeling his long fingers and how big his hand was, and Namjoon let you, pretending not to notice.

You talked about graduation plans, life plans, little nothings that made each other sadly smile. Neither of you said it, but you both worried you wouldn’t be placed together.

“What’s your dream placement?” he asked you gently, his voice soft.

“You know, I don’t even care,” you said. Because it didn’t matter where they put you as long as you were with him, but you didn’t say that.

That night the two of you fell asleep like that, in that position. It wasn’t the first time.

VII.

When you woke up, you could feel Namjoon’s gentle breathing on your neck. You turned your head and looked at him, studying his expression in the early morning calm.

He was still on his side facing you, so now you were face-to-face, your foreheads and noses only a few inches apart. His hand still rested on your stomach, and you still held his hand there with both of your hands. You felt his fingers twitch a little in his sleep and wondered what he was dreaming about. His other arm was under the pillow now, and through it you could almost feel the swell of his bicep and warmth of his skin.

You only ever let yourself really look at him like this when he was sleeping, when the two of you had sleepovers in each other’s rooms. You studied the shape of his nose, the way his big, plush lips parted, the puffiness of his cheeks as he relaxed and breathed, every freckle and mole on his face that you wanted to kiss so badly. Cuddled up with him like this, you could feel how warm he was; Namjoon was a furnace of a man, and you’d gotten so used to sharing a bed with him the past few months, you now had to layer up and sleep with an extra blanket whenever you slept alone.

Namjoon sighed then, shifting a little in his sleep. You quickly closed your eyes and turned your head back so you weren’t facing him directly, in case he opened his eyes.

You felt him moving, shifting so that his arm was hugging you instead of his hand just resting on you. His hand was now on your side, below your armpit, his thumb on the side of your breast. He sighed and seemed to fall back asleep, softly snoring again after a few moments.

You laid like that for a while, enjoying this feeling, knowing you’d never have this for real. You'd never wake up next to Namjoon in the context you wanted, but this was more than enough for you. You were so in love with him, but he didn’t see you the same way, so you’d enjoy waking up in his arms for as long as you could.

When Namjoon eventually woke up on his own, he seemed to slowly realize the position you were in, moving his hand down carefully to more platonic territory. You opened your eyes and turned your head to look at him, and were caught off guard by the way he was staring at you so openly, looking down at your mouth for a few moments before looking back at your eyes with an expression you couldn’t name.

“Y/N,” he murmured, so softly you could barely hear him, but you could feel the rumble of it in his chest. You didn’t say anything, both of you just looking at each other in the peaceful quiet stillness of early morning, the only noises both of your gentle breathing.

Namjoon moved his hand up to your shoulder, and then his hand was cupping your cheek, brushing your hair back from your face. The tips of your noses were almost touching, his warm breath on your lips. He closed his eyes and put his forehead against yours, your heart almost stopping in your chest from how close he was. He’s never done anything like this before, and you definitely were not going to stop him.

He turned his head slightly, your foreheads still connected as the tip of his nose skimmed along your cheek, by your nose. He brushed his lips against yours so lightly you could barely feel him, his eyes still closed. You could feel his eyelashes tickling your cheek, and prayed he couldn’t feel how fast your heart was racing or how you nearly whimpered at his every touch.

Namjoon moved and brushed his barely parted lips against the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw. His hand on your cheek, he stroked your skin with his thumb slowly, touching you, feeling you. His leg moved up slowly, hooking over yours, and you spread your legs for him. You couldn’t even think straight right now, the only things your brain were processing were the touches and sensations Namjoon was giving you.

What the hell was he doing? The thought of him seeing you romantically, the same way you saw him, had seemed so impossible before now, but now, as he brushed his lips against your skin, you wondered if he’d been longing the same way you had.

Namjoon turned your head carefully, slightly away from him, so that you were looking directly up again. He kissed your cheek closer to him while he stroked the other, pressing gentle open-mouthed kisses down your face and neck as he slowly moved himself on top of you. You, matching his slow movements, wrapped your legs loosely around him and held onto his shoulders.

Namjoon kissed your skin as lightly as he could, feeling you anywhere you’d let him, and you were lost in him. He switched to your other side, kissing your collarbone and neck and jaw, and one of his hands moved up behind your head, tangling in your hair. Every movement was slow and deliberate and gentle.

You never would’ve guessed Namjoon was the gentle type, but now that this was happening, it made sense and you craved it. He closed his lips lightly against your earlobe and you gasped loudly, trying to arch up against him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your ear. “So soft, so perfect, my angel, my love.” His voice was so warm and deep, and you quietly whimpered, holding onto his shoulders even tighter. You felt like he could make you come just from this, just from his light touches and hearing his deep voice praise you. You'd wanted him so badly for years now, you’d dreamed about him, fantasized nonstop, and now here he was, and the tension was already building up for you.

He hadn’t even fully kissed your mouth yet. Namjoon pressed his lips against your cheek, caressing the other side of your face with his hand, just holding your body so close to his. You swore you could die right now and be fine with that.

An alarm suddenly blared, and both of your bodies stilled and tensed.

Namjoon jumped off of you and sat back on his legs, looking around the room like he was expecting to see what was happening written on the walls. You sat up too, looking around. Your legs were still spread, your brain still hazy from Namjoon’s kisses, and you looked at him as you saw him working through what was happening.

“Something’s wrong,” Namjoon said, quickly jumping up. He sat back down on the side of his bed long enough to put on his shoes. “Come on,” he said, pulling you up when he stood again.

You snapped yourself out of your lust-haze. The alarm was still going off, which meant something major was happening right now. It wasn’t just a test.

You left, quickly scampering across the hall to your own room so you could get dressed.

You and Namjoon met up in between your rooms a moment later, both in uniform, and ran down together to where the rest of the base had gathered, Namjoon taking your hand in his as you ran.

VIII.

It was another attack, like when you were young.

You all stood there at attention receiving orders, none of you looking anywhere except forward blankly. This was it, everything you had trained for, the exact reason you’d trained so hard. They were back.

You and Namjoon were both assigned as squadron leaders to two different units, Namjoon to Red One and you to Blue One. Those were two of the best, most elite units of fighter jets, but you looked over at him when you got your assignments. You weren’t together, so you wouldn’t know if he was okay until after it was all over.

You were all dismissed and had fifteen minutes to get to your planes and prepare for launch. You went straight to your plane, not stopping to talk to Namjoon. You knew you wouldn’t be able to leave him once you looked at him, so it was better to just pretend this morning hadn’t happened.

You were just starting to climb the ladder up to your plane when you heard his voice.

“Not saying goodbye?”

You froze in your tracks, but didn’t turn or look at him. You couldn’t make yourself say anything, instead just staring straight in front of you with your hands on the rungs of the ladder.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice much softer now as he walked over to you. The planes were close together so you were in tight quarters, and he stood right behind you, his hands not quite touching your sides.

“What?” you said, not looking back at him.

“Please don’t leave without saying goodbye,” he said. You'd never heard his voice like this. Quiet, pleading, loving. It was like this morning in bed, but more desperate, yearning, begging you to look at him.

You started to move up the ladder without turning around, and he put his hands on your hips, stopping you. He immediately let go, not wanting to trap you there.

You sighed and turned around to face him, only partially, still a step up on the ladder so you were just slightly taller than him. You reached back and held onto the ladder with one hand as you looked at him.

When you saw the expression on his face, it took your breath away. He looked almost tearful, sick with worry, trying to be stronger than how he obviously felt.

“Goodbye,” you said softly, bringing your free hand up to his cheek.

He stood there for a moment, just looking at you. You stroked his cheek with your thumb and tried to smile weakly. His hair was getting a little long, you noticed then for some reason. He was supposed to keep it short to stay in uniform, but now it looked long enough for you to run your fingers through.

Namjoon’s eyes were wide and innocent, searching your face. Around you, the base was chaotic and busy as other pilots ran to their planes and officers barked out orders and engines started up. The two of you just stood there in your quiet moment, both a lot less excited about your first mission than you’d thought you’d be, everything happening so much sooner then you’d both thought and on such a larger scale than you ever could have anticipated. You remembered almost wanting this when you were young, promising yourself that you’d be ready if they ever came back. Maybe the universe was punishing you; whenever you loved someone, the universe immediately sought to take it from you. Your family when you were young, and now Namjoon.

He looked like he wanted to kiss you or tell you something. He parted his lips and glanced at your mouth, his brow furrowing as he breathed, and he looked back up at your eyes, his expression so worried.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, smiling gently.

You turned and climbed up into your plane without another word.

There had been twenty pilots in your squadron when you left, and four when you returned.

You didn’t really remember the aliens from when you were little, but you’d seen countless videos. You knew what they looked like, how they performed, what their technology was supposed to be like, what their weaknesses had been.

You saw so many planes go down. The alien ship had a different defense than last time, and the fight was only over when the alien ship suddenly left and moved on, seemingly just because it wanted to, not because the humans posed any kind of threat to it. When it left, it had taken out an entire city, just like last time. The town near the base had only recently gotten its infrastructure set up.

You and your three surviving pilots returned first out of all the other squadrons. You quickly climbed out of your plane and ran down to the hangar, asking about the other pilots still out there. You needed to know if Namjoon was okay.

Before you even got to the hangar, another alarm started blaring. A plane near you exploded, and you spun around, looking up at the sky.

There had to be over a hundred alien ships in the sky, all firing on the base and the planes.

“Get inside, now!” you yelled, pointing at the pilots from your squadron who’d ducked down near their planes. You knew the base had a bunker, and the number of people at the base now could easily survive down there long-term.

There was panic as people got down there as fast as they could, all climbing over each other and yelling. You stayed back where you could see the sky, ducking down in a safe spot and watching as long as you could. You only saw alien ships, none of your own.

You imagined Namjoon’s last seconds. If he hadn’t made it back to the base, there was no way he’d survive. The ships would find him. You could only see the planes you’d seen exploding earlier, hear the voices of the pilots in your squadron on your coms as their ships exploded. A cut-off shout, and then nothing.

You finally made yourself run down to the bunker. In the distance, you could hear the ships destroying every visible part of the base, every last truck and car and plane and tank exploding as the blasts hit them. The walls shook and lights flickered and dust fell from the ceiling as you made your way down the stairwell to the bunker.

Over the destruction above you, you could hear Namjoon’s voice that morning in his bed, the world frozen around you then, the only things that mattered his large, gentle hands, his slow, exploring mouth, and his soft voice.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’d breathed against your neck. You'd been able to feel his smile, the tip of his nose tracing your jaw, the warmth of his breath on your skin. You'd never felt safer than when you were laying in bed with him.

You pushed the door of the bunker shut behind you, your hands shaking and eyes welling up. You could not think about this; you had to push all of that aside for now. You had a job to do.

After about five minutes down in the bunker, the lights went out. The weak backup generator kicked on near-immediately, but now there was no connection to the outside world. If any pilots managed to survive this long, the base wouldn’t know about it or have any way of contacting them.

When you’d taken off, both you and Namjoon had been promoted to captains, to lead your squadrons. Once all of the remaining people at the base were down in the bunker and accounted for, you were promoted again, this time to major.

Almost everyone out of the thousand or so people on the base had gone out to fight. The only people who’d stayed behind were ground control officers, technicians, first years, civilians who worked on the base, and the top few people in charge. There were maybe a few hundred people down in the massive bunker now, and you ranked sixth in command out of all of them.

Namjoon would’ve been so jealous you outranked him, you thought with a small smile.

VI.

Four days passed with no news.

There was no service. There was no internet, radio, or any connection to the outside world.

You were itching to get out. There was no news from the outside world, but there also hadn’t been any explosions since the first day. The alien ships had to be gone by now. On the second day, you’d tried to suggest to the general that you could go up to the surface and see if an evacuation could be planned, but the general and other officers had all said that there was no need to evacuate, because there were plenty of supplies down here. They would continue to work on regaining communications with other bases, and nothing else immediately mattered until then.

Now, you were on your cot, staring at the ceiling above you. It was the middle of the night and just about everyone else was asleep. Most people slept on cots in what looked like an old gym, all lined up in long rows. Everyone had been given two changes of clothes, all gray jumpsuits. You felt like you were in prison.

The scratchy wool blanket was pulled up to your neck. You tried to imagine sharing the cot with Namjoon, the two of you squeezed onto the spot only meant for one and giggling when you just barely fit. You imagined him spooning you, kissing your neck and shoulder and holding you close to him. You imagined feeling his heartbeat in his chest. You imagined his face when his plane exploded.

It wasn’t fair. You’d literally just become something more than friends, maybe, kind of. Your relationship with Namjoon meant everything to you, and it had suddenly been changing in such amazing ways, and then he’d immediately been taken from you.

You refused to cry about this. You refused to even accept he was gone. There were ways he could’ve survived. There had to be. He could’ve flown low and ejected and hidden in the rubble of the city. Except he wasn’t a coward; you knew him, and you knew he was the type to win or die fighting. He could’ve led other survivors away from the city. Except there was no way these planes could’ve outrun the alien ships. They weren’t fast enough.

There had to be a way. You had to get up to the surface and find out. You had to find him.

VII.

After one week down in the bunker, you felt like you were going out of your mind.

You had a plan. You were going to go to the surface whether they let you or not. You were going to find Namjoon, or at least the remains of his plane. You were going to find him or find closure.

You needed climbing gear to get up the destroyed stairwell. You’d need to find rope and gear, a lot of water, and survival supplies. You began your plan, looking around for spare supplies nobody would notice was missing until you were gone. You knew where to find rope, but you had to figure out how to acquire and carry enough water. Plus you would need to bring medical supplies, in case Namjoon was injured. God, you could just imagine him, laying somewhere, bleeding out and barely conscious. You wondered if he’d thought of you, imagined you coming to save him.

You were seconds away from stealing rope from a supply closet when a short little man walked around the corner.

“Major?”

You froze in place. You weren’t in the room yet; you were innocent.

“Yes?” you said, smiling politely.

“The general wants to see you,” he said, and left without adding anything else.

Shit. How had they known? You hadn’t done anything yet, or told anyone or written anything down.

You made your way to the command center. Not much was going on there in the way of commanding anything, but it was where the higher ups — which now included you — met, and it was where they were attempting to reestablish communications with the outside world.

The room was busy with officers buzzing around. There were a lot of exposed wires hanging out of the walls. It looked like they were rebuilding a computer system circa 1970.

“Major,” the general said, motioning you over.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re the highest ranking field officer, so this goes to you first,” he said, handing you a manila folder. “We’ve established communication with a base a hundred and fifty miles from here, but only briefly. They said they have seven survivors from our base. They didn’t say who.” The general quickly added the last part when he saw your face light up at the mention of survivors.

You glanced down at the folder. Before you could speak, the general continued.

“We need someone — a pilot — to go up to the surface and see if any planes are still intact, and if so, fly to Walker Base. If there aren’t any planes left, we’ll probably have you try to find a car, or hike if you have to. We need to get our relay codes to that base, and once we do, we’ll have full communication with them again. You up for it?”

You looked up at the general, smiling.

VIII.

It took you about an hour to climb the staircase. Most of it was rubble and a lot of it involved throwing up a rope and securing it on something to climb the huge gaps where the stairs had fallen out, but you eventually got to the top, pushing aside debris to get yourself outside.

The base was gone. There was no way any planes survived this. Still, you walked out onto the strip, just in case.

Some of the piles of charred metal were still smoking. A few small fires were still going, most of them out in the lot, where jet fuel must still be feeding them. You tried to see if you could spot where your and Namjoon’s rooms used to be, but it was all just rubble, ash, and charred cinderblocks.

You walked down the landing strip, looking at the piles of scorched plane parts, blasted to nothing. Pieces of metal jutted up, a plane wing here, a part of engine there. Every pile you saw, you imagined seeing Namjoon’s body among them. You knew if he was dead, he wouldn’t be here, he’d be out in the city — but seeing all of the destroyed planes wasn’t helping.

You stopped in your tracks.

At the end of the landing strip, under a broken wing of a much larger plane, was the most beautiful F-15 Eagle you had ever seen.

You ran to it, climbing on it when you reached it and pushing aside the wing of the bigger plane until it clamored to the ground. You climbed into the cockpit, dropping your backpack with supplies and the relay codes into the little compartment, feeling nearly dizzy in euphoria. You prepped the jet for takeoff, everything going smoothly, and you imagined Namjoon’s face when you showed up at the base. He’d be so happy to see you, but so surprised, and when you told him that you got promoted to major–

You stopped for a moment, your smile falling as you stared blankly at your hands on the switches and dials.

You didn’t know if he was one of the survivors at the other base. You shouldn’t get your hopes up just to show up and find out he wasn’t one of the pilots who made it. For all you knew, you’d get there and one of the pilots from Namjoon’s squadron would tell you all about how he died.

You focused on the task in front of you. You were on a mission, first and foremost, to get the relay codes to the base. That was the important thing right now, not yourself or Namjoon.

You got the plane prepped and ready to go. The center of the runway was clear, since most of the planes had been gone.

F-15s were always your favorite.

IX.

You didn’t attract any alien attention while flying, thankfully. You got there in just over twenty minutes; around the fifteen minute mark, you slowed down and the base contacted you on your descent into their airspace. You had to identify yourself and state your intentions, but the base seemed completely willing to let anyone human land.

When you landed, a few people ran out and took care of your plane for you, as you were escorted inside. You handed over the relay codes and quickly asked if you could see the survivors from your base.

“Most of them were pretty shell-shocked when they got here, but they’re soldiers. They know how it is,” the officer escorting you said as the two of you walked. “How many survivors at your base?”

“Three hundred and forty-two,” you said flatly, staring straight in front of you as you walked. “We had four pilots including myself return, the rest were non-flight officers and civilians. No casualties on the ground, but the base was destroyed in an aerial attack shortly after we landed.”

“Yeah, we heard about that. That’s why we got your other pilots,” the guy said, motioning in front of him in the direction you were walking, assumedly at the surviving pilots. “They didn’t have anywhere to land and thought the base was gone, so they came here. All from different squadrons, but led by one captain.”

You perked up when you heard that. A captain had survived.

You really did try not to get your hopes up. Your base was huge; there were so many squadrons, only one captain surviving was not good news for Namjoon. Still, you were hopeful.

You were led to a barrack where a few pilots were sitting around together, all men looking bored out of their minds. You recognized Park from your training class, and a few others as well. You scanned their faces quickly, looking from person to person, desperately searching for him, frantic and anxious and despairing when you looked and didn’t see him–

“Y/N?” a voice said from behind you, and you spun around.

Namjoon had walked in behind you from the other direction; he looked like he’d just taken a shower, from the wet hair, clean clothes, and bag over his shoulder, which he dropped as he stared at you in disbelief.

Neither of you even said anything. You were only about ten feet apart already, but you immediately met in the middle, desperately grabbing at each other, hugging tightly. Your legs were up around his waist and he held you to him as he kissed all over your face. The room was spinning or maybe Namjoon was just spinning you around, you didn’t care, you just held onto him and tried to kiss him, one hand in his hair and the other arm around his shoulder, trying to pull him closer.

As much as you wanted and tried to kiss him, Namjoon was just too much; it was like he was trying to kiss every last millimeter of your face at least twice. He was holding you so tight you almost couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t even care. His skin, his hair, his mouth, his kisses were all the most amazing things you’d ever felt. You were pressed chest-to-chest, arms wrapped around each other, and you could almost feel his heartbeat pumping along with your own.

Namjoon stopped kissing you long enough to nuzzle against you, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against yours, nearly animalistic.

“I missed you so much, my love,” he breathed. You swore his face was wet with tears, his cheek still pressed against your own. “I haven’t thought about anything other than you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you this whole time, I love you so much… god, fuck, when I thought I’d lost you…” He started kissing your cheek again desperately, his hand coming up to hold your other cheek and hold you in place.

“I missed you too,” you gasped, your voice small and high-pitched as you tried and failed to hold in your tears.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he kept repeating, not even stopping speaking as he kissed you, so some of his words were muffled.

“I love you, too, Joon,” you managed to say before he kissed your mouth, tilting his head to kiss you so deeply it took your breath away.

“Okay, Jesus Christ,” somebody else in the room said then. “Do you guys want us to, like, leave or something?”

Namjoon stopped, catching his breath as you turned your head to look back at the six other pilots and the officer all awkwardly watching you.

“Uh, sorry,” you muttered, putting your feet back on the ground and turning around. Namjoon kept touching you, not taking his hands off you, even as you faced the others.

“I know you both outrank us, but get a room,” a different pilot laughed, his smile boxy and voice deep.

“You have a room, actually,” the officer that led you in said, perking up like that was his cue.

“We do?” Namjoon asked, confused. He stood behind you, hands on your hips, tall enough to see over your head.

“She does,” the officer gestured to you. “She’s a major. All superior officers class O4 and up get their own private room.”

“Major?” Namjoon said, tilting a little to look at your face. You smiled to yourself smugly.

“I can take you there now,” the officer said, motioning to the door behind him.

Namjoon stepped to the side and looked down at the ground shyly, glancing up at you and pouting. You wanted to roll your eyes; he actually thought you weren’t going to invite him to come with you.

“You too,” you said, holding out your hand for him.

Namjoon beamed, and quickly picked up his bag and jogged over to what must be his bed, grabbing the few belongings he had, and shuffled back over to your side, taking your hand and kissing you on the cheek before following along with you.

“Go get it, captain,” one of the pilots jeered at him, the others all snickering and wolf-whistling as Namjoon dropped your hand long enough to flip all the other pilots off while the officer led the two of you out and down the hallway.

As soon as the door was shut behind you in your room, the officer gone and the two of you alone, Namjoon dropped his belongings and picked you up again, your legs tight around him, the two of you kissing again. You felt your back against the cold metal of the old-fashioned blast door, one of Namjoon’s hands holding your face.

“How’d you get here?” he murmured against your neck after a moment, kissing your cheek between gasps. “They said the base was destroyed, no contact.”

“The attack happened right after I landed. Everyone got down in the bunker, no casualties on the ground,” you gasped, still a little short on breath. As you spoke, Namjoon kissed your neck, working his way up to your jaw. “They needed a pilot to bring relay codes here.”

“What’s this about you being a major now?” he said, smirking, his lips not leaving your cheek.

“Got an upgrade while you were gone,” you said, and then you gasped, laughing as Namjoon suddenly sucked your skin over your pulse on your neck, leaving behind a deep purple hickey.

“Well, Miss Major, that means you outrank me now,” he said, leaning back enough to smile at you, his expression a mix of mischievous and proud.

He stepped backward then, still supporting you with his arms, and walked back until he got to the bed, sitting down on it. He laid back, pulling you down on top of him gently, your mouths connected the whole way down.

He was the best thing you’d ever felt, his large, firm body contrasting his gentle touches and kisses. You couldn’t get close enough to him, but it was slow, lazy, loving, everything you’d ever wanted with him, his soft tongue in your mouth, his firm arms around you, his warm body under you.

You couldn’t get over how good he smelled. There was the soap he’d just used, but you’d known him and been close to him long enough to know his scent. He tasted so good too; he swirled his tongue with yours slowly, tracing lazy patterns on your tongue, kissing you so deeply your head spun. His hands rested on your back, his fingers spreading wider as he tried to touch more of you.

You parted for air as he rolled you both, holding your body to his with one hand as he pulled you up the bed, resting your head on the pillow as he gently laid you down. Even though you would’ve only fallen a few inches and the bed was soft, he set you down like you were made of glass, looking down at you with love and hearts in his eyes, not breaking eye contact as he gave you a small, warm smile.

His dark hair was mussed up a little from you running your fingers through it, and it looked fantastic on him. His face was flushed and his parted lips were red and a little swollen, and he looked like he’d been crying, or was about to cry, or both.

You pulled him down to you and kissed him again. He set his body against yours, lining himself up with you as you wrapped your legs around him. You were both still fully clothed, but you could feel him, pressed perfectly against you from your collars to his growing erection and your throbbing core.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, grinding slowly against you. “I’ve loved you for so long, I wanted to die when I thought something happened to you and I never told you. I promise I’m going to tell you now, every single day, every time I see you, every time we make love, every second of every day–” He cut himself off by kissing your neck desperately, moving down toward your breast.

“I love you, my angel. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world, I love you so much,” he said, kissing along your skin frantically by the collar of your ugly flight jumpsuit. “You’re my best friend, and I love you, I love you, I love you,” he said, kissing up the center of your chest toward your clavicle. His messy hair tickled your chin, and you rested one of your hands on the back of his head as he worked, gently stroking his hair.

“I love you too,” you managed to say, though words weren’t really coming to you right now, with all Namjoon was doing to you.

Namjoon got up then, and you watched for a moment as he started quickly stripping off his clothes. You sat up too, pulling off your jumpsuit, and Namjoon got all but his boxers off before your arms were even out. He helped you, running his hands along your skin as you peeled off the jumpsuit, leaving you in just the undershirt and shorts you’d had on underneath.

There was a moment where the two of you just sat there looking at each other. You’d both seen each other in this context — nearly naked — before, from sleeping in the same room to swimming to other random things you’d done together over the years, but this was the first time it was ever like this.

Namjoon raised his hands slowly, his fingers just barely skimming against your hips. His eyes were on your breasts, his mouth nearly watering, and you smiled at that. He looked up at you, his eyes innocent and showing every emotion he had within him; he was asking for permission.

You brought your hand up to his face and kissed him slowly, savoring every movement of his lips, the feel of his tongue, the taste of him. His hands went to your thighs and helped you wrap your legs around him, and then you were laying down again, Namjoon on top of you.

He kissed down your chest, this time simultaneously running one of his hands up your stomach under your thin undershirt. He cupped your breast with that hand, feeling you fully, while his mouth kissed back up to your neck. He got your undershirt off without either of you having to get up, though he did have to lean back a little to give you room to wiggle around, and then he unhooked your bra and threw that and your undershirt somewhere behind him.

Namjoon swirled his tongue around one of your nipples, gently squeezing your other breast with his hand, your peaked nipple hard against his palm. He rolled one nipple between his thumb and forefinger slowly while sucking the other, just barely using teeth and making you gasp, and then he switched sides, doing the same thing again.

“That feels so good, Joonie,” you sighed, closing your eyes and smiling to yourself. You stroked his hair while he worked, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. Every moment or so, you’d let out a moan for him, tightening your fingers in his hair whenever he did something that made you see stars, and he’d hum back to you, responding without taking his mouth off you.

Namjoon moved down your abdomen, kissing every rib, every freckle, every last inch of your skin. He dipped his tongue into your belly button and you gasped and giggled, feeling his grin against your skin as he kissed down your navel, his tongue tracing along the edge of the little shorts you still had on.

You reached down and tried to pull off your shorts, but Namjoon’s hands replaced your own, slowly pulling just your shorts off and leaving your panties. He tossed your shorts the same direction he’d tossed your bra, and then looked down at you, sitting back on his legs. Your legs were spread wide, your soaked panties the only thing covering you, your eyes desperate for him, your breasts rising and falling as your breath quickened in anticipation and need for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his expression almost dazed in love and adoration. He looked like he didn’t know where to look, his eyes scanning your face, your breasts, your spread thighs, the spot on your panties where you were already wet and soaking for him. You bit your lip and whimpered, and he closed his eyes, sighing and smiling to himself, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

Namjoon bent over and kissed your ankle, slowly, chastely. He moved to the other side and repeated that, kissing your anklebone. He moved up your calf, staying on that side, kissing you over and over and moving so slowly you started to whine for him, begging him to go faster and reaching down for him. He reached up and took one of your hands, holding it and lacing your fingers together as he continued what he was doing, not at all speeding up.

He kissed your knee, the side of it, the front of it, and tilting your leg gently to kiss the back of it. He moved up, kissing your inner thigh while still holding your hand. You spread your legs further for him, whimpering and squeezing his hand as he got closer and closer to your center.

Namjoon pulled back then, a smug smile on his face as he started moving down to kiss his way up your other leg, starting again at your ankle. You let out a whiney moan, pulling his hand and looking down at him, pleading.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he said gently, moving back to where you wanted him most.

He kissed you right over your panties, a deep, open-mouthed kiss that made you cry out. You could feel him breathing hard through his nose, smelling and inhaling you as he moved his mouth against you, letting go of your hand so he could hold your thighs with both his large, perfect hands.

He licked and sucked the fabric of your panties, tasting where you were soaked for him. It was the most amazing thing you’d ever felt, and you spread your legs even further for him, your hands holding onto the sheets of the bed, your knuckles turning white.

You gasped when you felt teeth, and then Namjoon was slowly pulling your panties down your legs with his mouth, looking up at you with playful eyes and a smirk. You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead just closed your legs enough for him to get your panties off of you, letting him have his fun. He let out a small growl at you, your panties still in his mouth, and you giggled, a soft noise that made his eyes light up.

Before you could think or do anything, Namjoon was back between your legs, spreading you open with his fingers and licking a slow, thick line up your folds to your clit.

You cried out, your head falling back and eyes squeezing closed. Namjoon repeated the motion, even slower this time, moaning a little too as he let the tip of his tongue enter you for just a moment. You whined, pulling his hair hard and trying to spread your legs even further, and Namjoon stopped, humming softly as he turned his head and kissed your thigh.

“I love you so fucking much,” Namjoon murmured against your skin, kissing you there again. “Your pussy’s so pretty, my love. So soft and wet for me.”

“Joonie,” you sighed, stroking his hair. You could feel his smile against your thigh, and it made you smile, too. You felt warm, like you were glowing from his love.

Namjoon turned his head back and dipped his tongue into you again, this time further, like he was trying to see how far he could go. His lips sucked at your entrance as his tongue flicked in and out, not fast enough to get you off, but not slow, either. He moved his tongue like he was trying to drink you, lapping you up, bringing your wetness into his mouth and down his throat.

You moaned loudly for him, pulling his face harder against you by his hair, and he reached up and grabbed one of your hands, lacing his fingers with yours over one of your thighs.

He moved his mouth up to your clit, drawing random shapes over it with the tip of his tongue lazily while he curled two fingers into you. He moved clumsily, like he wasn’t exactly sure of what he was doing but just wanted to make you feel good, and what he was doing was definitely working. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in eagerness and love, and when he moaned around your clit, and you nearly screamed.

“Jesus Christ, Joon, fuck. God, your mouth is… mmm, god, you’re so fucking good, that feels so good, Joonie, Joonie–” You cut yourself off with a long, agonized cry as Namjoon sucked your clit into his mouth hard, swirling his tongue around it as he suctioned his mouth and moved his fingers inside you faster. You repeated a chorus of nothing but his name between breathy moans as you held onto his hair with your free hand, your other hand squeezing his.

You gasped when you came, your whole body tensing as you saw stars and every nerve in your body exploded in pleasure. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream as you failed to breathe, your lungs tightening and your orgasm only building and building as Namjoon kept moving his tongue and fingers. You felt like you were floating in space, millions of stars around you all bursting at once, the entire universe stopping for you and Namjoon and the love you felt for each other.

After a moment, you took in a shaky breath, trying to recover while your mind was still mush. Namjoon was still moving his mouth on you, now licking up your wetness at your entrance and moaning to himself at the taste. If he kept that up, you were going to come again, and soon.

You moaned, pulling on his hair enough for him to look up at you, not stopping what his mouth was doing. You pleaded with your eyes, whimpering and pulling his hair again, and he put his lips to your entrance one last time, this time spreading his lips as wide as possible and sucking as he slowly closed his mouth. You gasped and almost screamed at the sensation of him actually drinking you, desperate to taste you.

Your second orgasm was smaller, making you shudder and gasp for just a moment before steadily breathing deeply as you tried to recover again. You looked down at him, barely able to lift your head; Namjoon was kissing your thigh, your hips, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as he slowly worked his way up your stomach. You could see how hard he was, his precum glistening on the head of his cock as it bounced against his stomach with his movements.

You started to reach down to grasp him, but he gently stopped you, bringing your hand back up by your head and lacing his fingers with yours. He kissed your collarbone, leaving a trail of wet kiss spots all over your body, your own wetness in the shape of his lips and chin.

“Please, Joonie,” you hummed, and he came back to you, kissing your lips slowly and letting you taste yourself on him. You wrapped your legs around him tightly as he lined himself up with your entrance, moaning when you felt the head of his cock against your folds, gasping when he started slowly sliding into you, every amazing inch of him filling and stretching you.

Namjoon buried his face in your neck, the length of his nose pressed against the curve of your jaw. He turned his head enough to kiss your neck, feeling your rapid, heavy pulse with his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your neck, not opening his eyes. “So fucking tight and wet for me, my angel, my princess, my heart, my love. I love you so fucking much.” He kissed your neck again gently before pushing all the way into you and bottoming out, the stretch so wonderfully tight and full. You cried out, spreading your legs further and higher for him, grabbing at his shoulders, scraping your fingernails down his back as he filled you up so completely.

Namjoon pulled out slowly and then pushed in again, rocking into you. You were desperate, nearly delirious and just about ready to cry if he didn’t start moving faster. He seemed to just barely be holding on by a thread, his own orgasm already one sudden movement away from overwhelming him.

“God, Jesus Christ, Joon, fuck,” you cried, close to actually in tears now. You started to say something else but it turned into a small whimper as he thrust into you again, hard.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, “I love you so much, Y/N…” Your name turned into a long moan as he began his slow, torturous pace, both of you so close to the edge already. You didn’t know how he was possibly going so slow still, other than the fact he must want to torture you.

“Go faster, please,” you cried out, holding onto his shoulders as tight as you could and digging in your fingernails. “I need you so bad, Joonie. God, fuck me, please…”

“I love you, angel,” he said, kissing your shoulder. He picked up the pace a little, but it wasn’t enough. “I love you, baby, I love you so much. I love you, I love you–”

“Go fucking faster, now, please…” you sobbed, pulling his hair, making him hiss in pain, but he listened, reaching down and holding your hip with one hand as he started pounding into you, the force of it making the bed creak and your breasts bounce with each quick, powerful thrust. You were long past gone, moaning loudly with each exhale, and Namjoon groaned and grunted, his head against your shoulder as the two of you moved together, you rolling your hips up to meet him thrust for thrust.

Namjoon broke first. His orgasm hit him suddenly and he tried to keep moving, his thrusts sloppy, erratic, and uneven as he spilled into you, his mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut. He let out a long groan until he ran out of air, and then he didn’t inhale again until he finished, suddenly and harshly gasping in again, his whole body shaking in your arms.

He reached down and rubbed your clit furiously, and you only lasted a few seconds before you gasped too, clenching around his still half-hard erection inside you, which only made him groan in overstimulation as you squeezed and spasmed around him, gasping nothing but his name and feeling nothing but him, your love, your Namjoon.

Namjoon somehow managed to keep himself from collapsing on top of you. He moved to the side enough to fall beside you, one of his legs still between your thighs as he laid on his stomach, slightly turned in toward you. His hand moved up to cup and stroke your cheek as he lazily kissed your shoulder.

“I love you too, Joonie,” you said between shaky breaths, your vision almost blurry from lust and exhaustion and a dumb happy smile on your face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You laid there for a little while together before you eventually went another round, this time as slow as Namjoon had wanted to go the first time.

When you came this time, your orgasm had to have lasted at least five full minutes (or at least, it felt like that) as Namjoon kept moving in and out of you, keeping up his steady, slow, overwhelming movements that left you delirious with his cock inside you, his thumb on your clit, and his lips on yours, breathing in every moan of his name.

After you both laid there a while again, lazy in post coital haze, you eventually got up and went to your room’s personal little bathroom, where you turned on the tiny shower and let it warm up. You stood there feeling the water’s temperature with your hand while Namjoon stood behind you, arms wrapped around you and lips on your neck. It was like he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without saying “I love you,” not that you were complaining.

You showered together, Namjoon standing behind you the whole time and washing your body for you. He massaged your breasts, hands sudsy as the warm water fell down over them as he kissed your neck, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear. One of his hands fell down to your folds, stroking you slowly as his other hand moved to your breast, arm wrapping around you so that his forearm could also press against your nipple, stimulating and touching both of your breasts at once.

Namjoon slid two fingers into you as he kissed your temple. You could feel him hard against your ass, and that feeling made your eyes flutter.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamt of touching you, pleasing you, making love to you,” he murmured into your hair. You responded with an agonized moan, reaching back and holding onto his shoulder for support. “I’ve wanted you like this since we first met. I dreamed about eating your perfect little pussy so many times, doing exactly this to you, feeling you squeeze my cock like you did earlier when you came so prettily. You’re better than anything I ever could’ve imagined though, baby. Your pussy tastes like heaven and feels even better. You’re so fucking perfect, princess, I love you so much, more than my heart can bare.”

You felt like he had to be bending you over slightly, his firm chest against your back. You swore you could actually feel his cock throbbing.

“I need you,” you moaned, your eyes closed as you felt nothing but his hands.

“I’m here,” he said, kissing your cheek. “I’m here, angel. I love you.”

“Need you inside me,” you said, spreading your legs to stand with your feet braced wider apart. “I love you, too, Joonie. Please…”

Namjoon didn’t need to be told twice. Hooking his arm around your waist for support, he bent you both over a little more, sliding into you from behind in one smooth motion. You cried out in ecstasy, he felt so good and big and yours.

It was fast and sloppy; he hugged you against him with both arms while you braced yourself on the tile wall in front of you. The sound of skin smacking against wet skin, his hips hitting your ass coupled with both your quiet moans and the wet squelching of him moving hard and fast inside you, echoing off the tile walls with the sound of the running water. He filled you so perfectly, stretched you out so far, you felt like he was fucking up into your guts, so hard and deep and good.

You came at the same time, Namjoon groaning and squeezing you harder as your eyes rolled back in your head.

When you’d both recovered some, you stood there under the water, still in the same position. You both knew base rules about wasting water, so you needed to wrap this up, but neither of you wanted to move.

You eventually got out and dried off, both of you getting ready for bed with the toiletries provided by the base. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you the whole time though, so the whole process probably took three times longer than it should’ve.

When you both finished, he pulled you to him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he kissed you, his hands spreading out on your bare back. Namjoon’s tongue slowly swirled with yours as he let out a small, contented hum, and he wrapped your legs up around his body, supporting you with one hand on your back and the other on your thigh.

Namjoon walked to your bed, carrying you, and laid down with you on top of him. You didn’t end up going another round, but you kissed for a while until eventually you started to move off of him to sleep beside him. Namjoon, though, held you there on top of him, keeping you there.

He murmured a soft little “please,” stroking your back gently, begging you to stay where you were on top of him. You laid back down and kissed right over his heart, before turning your head and resting your cheek on his chest, nuzzling in against him to sleep as he pulled the sheets up around you both.

You were safe in his arms. The world around you didn’t matter; not the people down the hall, not anything outside the base, none of it. The whole universe was just you and Namjoon in this bed, and nothing else existed. He was yours, and you were his.

#ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #namjoon smut #bts smut #rm smut #kim namjoon #namjoon #my writing #namjoon fic #*

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writingsfromstarfleet · 4 years

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Data - As The World Falls Down

♫ - As The World Falls Down - David Bowie

For MJ, @okamiredfoxx , I hope you enjoy! ♡

"Hey, Y/N, you like those old 20th century-era films, right?" Geordi had asked you, and you looked up from your station in the engineering bay.

"I do?" you smiled at your friend, knowing he and Argyle were bound to be debating something, as per each day there was always something. Always.

"What would you say then," Argyle began, turning to you with a smile as he continued. "is the best film to come from that era of Earth?"

You sat wide eyed at the two men who waited for your answer. You hadn't thought anybody else had an interest in 1900s/2000s era film, especially given the time frame currently. Still, you chuckled to yourself, a definitive answer that never wavered rolling off your tongue.

"Easy. Labyrinth."

Argyle chuckled. "Labyrinth?" He repeated, almost confused. "Like Pans Labyrinth with the hand guy?" He placed the backs of his hands against his eyes and motioned Pale Man's actions, leaving you laughing as Geordi swatted his arm.

"No, Y/N means the film about the goblin city and the girl who's brother is stolen by the goblin king, right?" Geordi nodded at you and you smiled back, nodding too.

"That one exactly, Geords."

"Huh," Argyle shrugged and smiled along with the both of you. "I still think it's Interstellar."

The three of you began working once more in a comfortable silence, and unbeknownst to you, a certain android had been listening to your conversation in its entirety.

Data was an enigma, but despite everything, the two of you were close. You'd begun talking to Data through Geordi, usually Data would be there when you had your meet ups in Ten Forward, not that you had minded. You found the man fascinating, he had such impartial views on everything, and he was knowledgeable about most topics, so he made for good conversation. Soon enough, you found yourself in Data's company more and more without the presence of anyone else; be that walks through the ship simply talking, or jaunts on various holodeck programmes, you were just happy to be with him. You hoped, though he didn't feel human emotion, he felt the same in his own rights.

Data watched you leave early for your lunch break, and walked to his friend.

"Geordi, may I inquire about your conversation with Lieutenant Y/N?" Data asked, and Geordi placed his hand on Data's shoulder.

"Of course, go right ahead."

Data asked him about your interest specifically, and what Labyrinth was all about. As Geordi recounted the plot, and all the fine details Data asked for in between, Geordi look quizzically at his friend.

"You planning on a movie night, Data? I would recommend it, but there are also far better films out there than that, in my humble opinion."

As Geordi laughed to himself, Data simply nodded.

"Thank you, Geordi."

You hadn't seen Data the next day, and when you had, it had been fleeting in the hall; usually your work meant you'd run into him almost hourly. You would be lying if you said it hadn't made you a little sad, but still, you carried on with your day, assuming that Captain Picard had given him more tasks than usual. What you didn't know in that moment, however, was how wrong you were.

Sighing, you entered your quarters and breathed out; another day was over and you could finally relax. You'd been enjoying your shift and the company was great, that much wasn't being disputed, but you found yourself simply longing for a nap. Exhausted, you asked the computer to dim the lights and made your way to the bed.

Upon entering your room, however, your eyes wandered to the package on your bed; a silver box tied neatly with a light blue bow. Attached was a note, seemingly handwritten in copperplate text.

'For tonight, 20:00 hours. Holodeck three. - Commander Data.'

Twiddling the note in your hands for a couple of seconds, you smiled to yourself. Everything that man did made you love him one bit more, though each and every time you would state that was impossible. Untying the bow delicately, it fell off and you opened the lid to reveal a mass of material, shimmering even under the dim light. Confused, you pulled it out of the box to reveal it was in fact a dress. As you lifted it, it unravelled fully and you could see the intricacies of the pleating combined with the embroidery, instantly recognisable to you; it was Sarah's dress from Labyrinth. A breath of shock left you as you stared at the dress in disbelief. The box also held her hairpiece, replicated with an accuracy you hadn't thought possible. Sleep was now the last thing on your mind.

8pm had rolled around both far too quickly and not quick enough for you. The halls were fairly empty as you stepped out of your quarters. Nerves overtook you as you approached the holodecks, but you couldn't think why. It was just another holo-adventure with Data, you'd done those before. The uncertainty of what he had planned was what got to you, though you knew it was more excited nerves than bad ones. Finally reaching the door, it opened for you and you gasped.

The light hit your eyes and the sounds of soft music came from inside. You stepped in, lifting the bottom of your skirt as you did so. Looking round, your eyes were met with people dancing everywhere. Tables and chairs littered the outside of the dancefloor, adorned with different foods and embellishments. Your eyes couldn't scan quick enough, every little detail was beyond accurate and you couldn't quite believe you were stood in your favourite film scene of all time.

Looking around, you failed to see Data, far too many people were spinning by you as you walked. A few offered their hands to dance but you declined politely, still searching for the android. Eventually, your eyes landed on him, and he approached you slowly, a mask covering his face. The closer he got to you, he reached his hand out, the music still playing softly around you. Taking his hand, Data lowered his mask and you saw his face; it was beautiful at the best of times but in the light of the ballroom he looked all the more handsome.

"Hello there," you spoke softly, unable to contain your happiness. Data nodded at you.

"Good evening, I am glad you showed up." His voice was low, but you heard him well despite the noise and giggled.

"As though I could say no."

Data began to sway you to the music, and you placed your hand on his shoulder and his free one laid on your waist. A gentleman, it never faltered either. As the two of you danced, Data leaned in closer to you and began to hum along, clearly having memorised the film beforehand. You instinctively curled closer to his chest, until his chin rested atop your head and you swayed in comfortable silence. The android slowly began to sing the lyrics, quietly, but definitely there.

"I'll place the sky, within your eyes..." Data trailed off as you lifted your head to look at him, astounded more than anything that the android had sung. Not only that, but he had a lovely singing voice, too.

"There's such a fooled heart, beating so fast; in search of new dreams, a love that will last.."

"I'll place the moon, within your heart." You cut him off with your own sing along, and you saw a faint hint of a smile present on his face.

Data spun you round, your skirt flowing around you seconds later, and danced just as you'd expect, with precision and correctness. The same smile never left your face as the dance continued, the two of you working around the others perfectly, as though you had done this a thousand times before. That was what you loved about him the most, that no matter what was happening or what you were doing, Data made everything comfortable. Never once had anything felt foreign, and you had just clicked with him instantly. He felt homely, and made you feel safe whenever he was around, and times like this made you realise why you'd fallen for him in the first place.

"Y/N, may I have your attention for a second?" He asked, pulling you out of your slight daydream as you stepped with each other calmly once more.

"As ever, Data, of course."

"I have been meaning to tell you this for a while now, though I did not know how best to approach such a subject. Upon consulting Geordi, I believe this was the best way to do it," Data gestured to the program, a more serious tone to his voice. He continued. "I recalled you mentioning that Jim Henson's work was among your favourites from the 20th century, in particular Labyrinth. I wished for this to be perfect for you, because that is what I believe you deserve."

"Data?" you questioned softly, looking the android in the eye as he carried on his speech.

"Since we began to talk more often, I realised that we got along very well, and you were very willing to listen to me talk; I cannot recall one time you have ever cut me off or told me to stop talking, for which I thank you. But, I have come to realise it is more than that. Though I do not have emotions, what I feel for you I know is true, and it most certainly is there. I believe, in my own way, I have come to care for you a great deal, and in human terms, I am sure that it is love. I love you, Y/N."

Your eyes were brimmed with tears, nothing but adoration in your eyes for the man stood before you. You stood shocked at his declaration, smiling nonetheless. Letting go of his hand, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. On your prompt, Data's arms wound themselves around your waist, keeping you against him as you spoke against his ear.

"And here I was, thinking this was purely one sided." You chuckled, and he pulled you back to look at you. No matter the time of day he found you beautiful, and right now Data couldn't deny to himself that such a fact was still true.

"Does that mean you also feel the same? That you.." For the first time ever, you cut him off, unable to contain the happy feelings you had.

"I do, I love you, Data."

On instinct, the android leant in and captured your lips with his own, and you took his face in your hands. The kiss was bliss, the sounds around you adding to the atmosphere, and this time neither of you could keep the small smiles off your faces. Pulling back, Data kept you held close to him, dancing with you once more.

"But I'll be there for you," he sang once more, and you rested your head against his chest and joined in.

"As the world falls down."

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #star trek tng #star trek the next generation #the next generation #tng #data soong #data #data x reader #data imagine #imagine #x reader

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violetsoju · 4 years

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let’s go on a ride (where to)彡★

suna rintaro · fluff? · 3.1k

a/n: here’s a cookie for you if you can guess correctly from which song i got inspired by 🍪 (hint: it’s from a female soloist!) do let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️

The first time you got on his bike was when you were late for your finals. Being the ironically procrastinator and overachiever you are, you dunked 3 cups of coffee the previous night in attempt to stay up drilling pages and pages of chemical processes and reactions, along with the insane number of structures and behaviours of molecules that seemed to stretch on forever into your poor cramped brain. So when you woke up to your clock staring at you with its long hand 20 minutes away from the scheduled time of your doom, you knew you were indeed, doomed. Your shouts and failing hands to the bus driver fell on deaf ears, leaving you gasping for air, hands on your knees as you reached the now empty bus stop.

You were about to make a run for it when a motorbike pulled up beside you, a male voice catching your attention. “Hey.”

You turned to see fox-like eyes staring back at you, one which had you intrigued since the first encounter. Even though his other features were hidden beneath his helmet, the boy clad in black on the bike was undoubtedly, your next-door neighbour.

“Get on my bike, let’s go.” he said, throwing a helmet in your direction.

Despite living right next door, the both of you never had a conversation with each other. You don’t really see each other too, in your defence. Normal greetings would just be a small nod of acknowledgement, sometimes with a small ‘hi’ if you were feeling sociable enough.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

“Where to?” he asked, as you climbed onto the back seat.

“Hyogo University, please.” You grabbed on the rail bar behind, praying that you won’t somehow fall off.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you missed the bus, because weaving through unusual heavy traffic on two wheels was definitely more efficient than being stuck on four wheels. You yelped as you almost lost your balance from the zigzag drive, instinctively grabbing hold of his waist as you both zoomed past the congested roads.

Never in your life had you been so happy and relieved at the sight of your university. Jumping off the bike, you were about to sprint to your faculty when you stopped midway at your tracks at his call.

“Hey! My helmet!”

Turning back meant risking having the examination doors being slammed in your face. “I’ll return it to you later!” you shouted, waving the back of your hand towards him as you dashed to your examination venue.

Later that night, the boy found the sides of his lips tugging upwards slightly, huffing a breath from his nose in amusement at the sight of his helmet hanging on doorknob of his apartment. It was filled with packets of choco pie and a small yellow note in it.

「 Thank you so much for today! I got to my examination venue right on time thanks to you. Please let me know when you’re free. I’d like to treat you to a meal as a gesture of appreciation, these treats obviously aren’t enough.

-Your next-door neighbour 」

He opened a packet of choco pie and folded the small piece of paper neatly into the pocket of his jeans, making his way into his apartment.

Your eyebrows arched in surprise when you locked your front door the next morning. There was a small green note stuck on your door, along with a box of chocolate koala march biscuits secured tightly with tape.

「 It’s not a big deal. Now we’re even, so save that for something else. 」

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you got on his bike was on the way home from your job interview. You knew your heels were to go, and you should have gotten a new pair soon. But being the last-minute shit you were, you prayed with all your heart for it to survive on you till the end of the day.

Well, to be fair, it did cooperate with you for most of the day, besides than the awful blisters on the back of your heel and toes. It only gave up on you after the interview that went wrong (allocated interview slot being postponed and postponed, the central air-conditioning blasting like the North Pole, and what was it with companies and their ridiculous prejudice towards young women and maternity leaves), when your right heel got stuck in a sewage drain cover, snapping into half when you used too much force to get it out.

Then it rained. And of course, you left your umbrella at home as there were no indications of rain when you checked the weather forecast. Maybe the rain felt like giving the sun, along with the weather bureau, a surprise that day.

And maybe it felt like it had its fair share of fun after seeing your miserable state, drenched in its merry little splatter and your own infuriation, as it bid the sun goodbye and went back home once you got off the bus to your neighbourhood.

So here you were, walking barefoot on the scorching yet damp concrete pavement back home, adding more damage to your open wounds. Well, what other choice did you have? It’s not like you would break the other heel into half to balance it out, right?

The stares and hushed whispers around you couldn’t much compare to what was going through your mind now. Heck, you couldn’t even care less of how you looked. Smudged makeup and faint colour of your innerwear peeping beneath your now see-through white blouse were the least of your worries now. All you wanted was to get home, fill the tub with warm water, turn on some music, and let all the frustration built up in you sink away through the evening.

Walking around the last block of shops, you kept your eyes on the pavement, not noticing a familiar figure leaning against the wall a few shops ahead.

“Hey.”

You were so absorbed in your own thoughts, you didn’t realise a human wall up ahead.

“Hey!”

You winced at the sudden impact from the body slam, snapping up to find a boy around your age towering over you, alluring fox eyes meeting yours. “Sorry,” you muttered, stepping aside to continue on your way.

A warm hand grabbed hold of your arm, causing you to jump slightly at the sudden touch. He had his head tilted slightly to his left, his usual blank face staring back at you. But the hint of concern that subtly flickered in his eyes as he silently inspected you from head to toe made you stop in your tracks.

Maybe it was the series of incidents that happened throughout the day that had your mind spiraling in turbulent directions, or maybe it was the delicate warmth in his eyes that seemed so inviting, it wasn’t a bad idea to linger in it for a while. Whatever the reasons were, he was granted the rare permission to take a small peek through the faint cracks of your hardened shell, into the dark fiery void that held you hostage.

You kept your eyes glued on the ground as he kept his gaze on you, curling your bruised toes together against the hard concrete, contemplating if you made the right decision.

Once he was done with his inspection, he moved towards his bike parked by the side of the pavement, grip still on your arm, and dug out for an extra helmet underneath the seat of his bike. He placed the helmet over your head, featherlike fingers brushing against your skin as he secured the straps around your chin gently.

“Get on, let’s get home.” he said, tapping the top of the helmet as if he was patting a little girl’s head.

The journey home was silent, in a comfortable way, and you were grateful that he kept his curiosity to himself.

He dropped you off at the lobby entrance of your apartment, nodding in acknowledgement as you returned the helmet while mumbling an audible thanks. You should’ve waited for him to take the elevator back up to your floor together, but you were just so bloody done for the day. At least you pressed the ground floor button as you exited the elevator.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you got on his bike was after dinner one night. You were at the nearby convenience store in your pjs, a bowl of hot oden in hand, staring out at the night through the glass window. Late night convenience store runs were the best, because most people would be snuggled up in their homes, leaving the world to those like you to enjoy in peace in quiet.

You were on your third fish cake skewer when an unexpected presence made its way next to you. Gleaming hazel eyes locked with yours, and you found yourself unconsciously lost in it again.

He placed a plastic bag filled with an assortment of jelly fruit sticks on the table, savouring a purple coloured one in hand. You chuckled at this new side of him. This wasn’t quite something you pictured him to be.

He turned to you questionably. “Is there a problem?”

You shook your head. “Not at all, I’m just surprised with this new information.” You offered a fish cake skewer to him.

He gave you a green coloured jelly fruit stick in return. “There’s no age limit for these, are there?”

“Nope, you’re more than welcome to enjoy them,” You peered at the plastic bag. “Can I have the red one instead?”

“Picky.” he jokingly huffed.

The both of you enjoyed the rest of the night by the windowsill, making comfortable small talk here and there.

It was past midnight when you both made your way out of the convenience store. “Do you usually walk back alone at this time?” he asked, rummaging his pocket for his bike keys.

“Yeah, but not to worry, I can protect myself quite well. Ain’t no damsel in distress.” You jiggled your self-defense kit attached to your house keys at him.

He hummed in agreement, handing you a helmet. “My younger sister has a set of that too. That pepper spray is no joke.”

“What did you do to piss her off?” You fastened on the helmet strap nimbly, climbing onto the now familiar backseat.

“I was her guinea pig to test if it worked. And damn it worked well. 5-star rating.” The bike engine roared, muffling your laughs and off the both of you went in the night.

You furrowed your brows when he drove past by the turn to your apartment. “Hey, you missed the turn!”

“Buckle up, we’re going on an adventure.”

Apparently, his so-called adventure was to the neighbourhood hilltop which you had never dragged your lazy ass up to hike before. There wasn’t much to see in the dark surroundings, maybe it would be better in the day.

“For a moment I thought you were gonna abduct me or something.”

“By a guy that eats jelly fruit sticks at this age? Plus, you’re not even worth a bag of jelly fruit sticks.”

He fake coughed as you shoved the helmet in his chest playfully in retaliation.

The hilltop wasn’t that high, but high enough to overlook the charming neighbourhood below. Looking at your neighbourhood from a different perspective made you appreciate it more. The quaint coffeeshops, the now quiet primary school, the lush recreational park, they all looked so small from the top. So this is what birds see from the top, you thought.

Placing your hands on the wooden fencing, you closed your eyes for a moment to enjoy the cool breeze caressing your face, taking in a long, deep breath. Even the air up here was clearer.

You turned behind to find him lying on the grass with one knee up, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the black canvas above. You took your place comfortably next to him, mimicking his actions. A soft gasp escaped your lips, taken aback by the view displayed before you.

Maybe it was the cold reality and gradual maturity along with age that had your mind conditioned to thinking only the glowing lights of the city lit up the dark night skies. Long had you forgotten the existence of the scattered diamonds shining up above; one that lit up the skies and your eyes as a child, one you dreamt of picking from the sky to replace the plastic fluorescent ones on the celling of your nostalgic childhood room.

It was simple pleasures like this that kept boundless curiosity and imagination run wild, that made each day enjoyable and fun, that made one realise how beautiful life could be.

And to remind one how important it is to live in the present.

“Do you know how to identify constellations?”

“I only know the name of my zodiac sign, if that counts.”

“No.”

You chuckled at the small pout that formed on his lips.

“Don’t you think it’s amazing how people in the olden days could navigate their way with just a few blinking dots in the night sky? I don’t even know how to use a compass.”

“That’s why we have Google maps now.”

“Can you be a lil bit more enthusiastic?”

“You can’t deny that what I said is true, can you?”

It was his turn to chuckle at your exasperated sigh.

“Have you seen a meteor shower before?”

“Yeah, once I think.”

“Did you make a wish?”

“I guess so.”

“Has the universe granted your wish then?”

“A secret shall remain a secret.”

You hummed in response.

Truth to be told, the both of you were keeping secrets from each other: your identities. Sure, you both knew each other as next-door neighbours, but what else?

Perhaps he has the upper hand here. He knows you’re a university student from the first ride on his bike, he (somehow) knows you’re searching for a job from the second ride, and now he knows your little late night konbini run affair. All you know about him is that he rides a bike and likes jelly fruit sticks.

But you don’t mind. In fact, you like this anonymity. It’s what makes the relationship between the two of you more engaging, precious and real. You could let down your guard with him. No judgements, no defensive barriers, no facades.

Sure, you would be curious about his background at times. Is he the same age as you? Is he a fellow struggling university student like you? Or has he plunged into the battlefield called work already? But if you could be you wholeheartedly, and he could be him wholeheartedly too, that’s what matters the most at the moment.

“Are you certain that you made your wish correctly?”

“Are there procedures for making wishes upon shooting stars?”

“Duh. You gotta look up to the night sky, close your eyes, clasp your hands together, then make your wish. That’s how it works.”

“You could shake hands with my younger sister and be sappy drama sisters.”

“Maybe that’s why your wish hasn’t come true yet.”

“I’m not falling for your trap.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Man, I can’t believe nothing came out from what I studied for the whole week. Nothing. My feelings have been cheated on.”

Atsumu and you were currently slumped over the table at the convenience store next to the university, each with a hotdog in hand, along with an array of snacks scattered across the table. The both of you had just finished your classes for the day, and instead of grabbing proper dinner, you both were stuffing yourselves with junk food like children.

As to quote Atsumu, “Where’s the joy in life in blindly following the rules? Rules were meant to be broken. And it’s not like we do it every day.”

“Giving up so quickly? What happened to the ‘new semester new me resolution’, huh.”

Atsumu slammed his face on the table, groaning in distress. “Everything’s a scam. Life is a scam.”

You huffed out a small laugh at his exaggeration, eyes riveting back to the bustling street outside the window. Groups of students making their way to the bus and train station, couples choosing their dinner place hand-in-hand after work, a line forming outside the newly opened sushi place that served sushi on a mini bullet train. A typical Thursday evening.

A familiar jet-black bike among the line of bikes lined up by the pavement in front of the convenience store caught your sight. Oh?

Your mouth must’ve worked faster than your brain as Atsumu looked up to face the same direction you were looking at. “What yer looking at?”

“Oh, Suna must be around here somewhere. Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Suna, huh. Nice name.

“That’s one sexy looking bike, isn’t it? I always wanted a ride, but dude always speeds off even before I have the chance. Treats it like his wife. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone one ride it besides him.”

“Poor you, it’s a really nice ride.”

“The engine sounds amazing too- Wait. Wait a hot second. You rode it before? How? You know Suna?” Atsumu’s energy switch was turned back on, eyes wide like saucers as you shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“He’s my next-door neighbour, duh.” Atsumu swore he was so close to throwing hands at your nonchalant attitude on the matter.

“Speaking of the devil, there he is.”

Suna emerged from the bakery on the opposite street, a bag of freshly baked goods in hand. Crossing the busy road to your side of the street, a glint of surprise gleamed in his eyes at the sight of both of you through the window, mostly from the shock and betrayal expression of the blond. He nodded to Atsumu in greeting, which was replied with Atsumu barking questions at him from the inside.

“What the hell, Suna? We’ve been friends for so long and I’ve never had a ride before, and she gets a ride? Really, Suna? I thought we’re more than this-”

“You know he can’t hear you from outside, right?” Atsumu paused to stare at you for a moment, and continued shooting questions and making dramatic gestures to the boy grinning slyly at him outside.

Suna turned his eyes to you, tipping his head towards his bike. Wanna go home?

You gave him a smile. Yeah, sure.

You got up from your seat and shoved half of the snacks on the table into your bag. “Later, Atsumu.” You bid the blond goodbye, patting his shoulder in condolence as he gawked at the both of you like endangered animals in the zoo.

“Suna you lil shit.”

Maybe you weren’t only getting rides back home on his bike, maybe you were getting a ride into his heart too.

168 notes · View notes

journalxxx · 3 years

Text

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #Toshinori Yagi #All Might #deku #izuku midoriya

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “The New Doctrine.”

Things are heating up a little, and I hope you all enjoy. I will have you know that there was a bit of a time skip in here for Ramirez and Adam, and there are things that happened to them that I might go back and write at a later date.

But for now I am getting back to the Humans are Space Orcs theme, and I thank you for being patient while I went off on a tangent

The sun beat down through the caldera of the mountain, beating don on her skin, and the droplets of water that rolled down her skin in great streams. Water sloshed around her body, ankle dep and kicked up into the air by her swirling feet. The tip of her spear was bright with water, and the white moss around her was almost blinding, so she kept her eyes mostly shut, listening to the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of Naktan’s spear on stone timing out a rhythm for her, fight, a wild dance of imaginary foes an unseen enemies.

The heat of the sun was familiar, a friend to her after all these months fighting, and perfecting her craft under its rays and in all other weathers inclement or not.

She had fought when the rain thundered down and lightning roared overhead. She had fought when the wind roared, and when the ash fell out of season. She had fought during the day and during the night, illuminated by the blue flames of the mountain. She fought until she could fight no longer and then she moved past her exhaustion and continued to fight despite her weariness.

She fought until there was nothing of her left but the repeated spear movements spinning through all four of her hands like a machine that was incapable of making a misstep.

When she was done fighting by herself she fought against Naktan, a warrior so skilled it seemed as if his hands were moved by forces beyond the world in which she stood. He fought as if his entire being was infused with the spirit of war itself. Time and time again she fought him until her bruised body lay on the moss and the dirt, unable to move and unable to think.

He would dress her wounds then, carry her away to a small grouping of coitrees at the back of the bason, where she would rest, and sleep the sleep of the dead. Once done she would be roused form her sleep and forced to begin again despite the fatigue of her body, and the pain of her injuries.

Her entire life was consumed, down to her very dreams which whispered the formes back to her even as she created them.

She was a creature of nothing more than the spear and sleep, more the former than the latter.

She couldn’t have said how long she was top hat mountain, or how many times her body ached with bruises. She couldn’t count her dreams.

But they were always there rife with friends she barely remembered and faced it was hard to recognize.

Moments of clarity reminded her of who she was and what she was doing, but the strange palace and the strange practices didn’t leave her much time for thinking, only fighting. And when they weren’t fighting she was listening to the words of Naktan as he spoke to her on the nature of Drev martial doctrine in its purest state and how it had been perverted and corrupted overtime into something…. Else entirely.

The doctrine of the spear being especially poignant to her. If only that had been the tradition her mother had followed…. Than maybe her life wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe she would have been raised by proud parents together in battle instead of one proud parent and another full of bitterness, so torn apart by their differences that they would never fight together again.

She listened to his words, and listened some more, about the nature of fighting itself, and the more she listened the more she understood just how wrong they had been about so many things. War was for honor sure, but it had never meant to become the lynch pin that held the doctrine together. Fighting was about honor and was only to be performed under certain circumstances, protection, and to write wrongs between corrupted nations and uncorrupted nations.

He bemoaned the population of the Drev, so meager and sparse as it was….. Which was an issue Sunny had never considered.

When she asked about technology his words surprised her. It was not, completely heretical, yes technology for the use of CEREMONIAL war was heretical, war between the Drev and the Drev alone, but when it came to other species, all bets were off. You didn’t hold others to the standards of your own nation and expected them to keep it.

Ranged weapons were a part of the universe and a completely new fighting style the Drev were going to have to learn and embrace.

The Drev martial doctrine was supposed to be hard, hard like a stone in a river, but also flexible, like water pouring past obstacles, a delicate balance between honor and practicality. OVer the years, the Drev had perverted those practices by making them too hard, and less flexible, placing those same hard parameters on their young.

Many perfect Drev children had been thrown to the fires for this ideology, and it was fitting that she would change it.

Saying this, he stood and took her by the arm leading her towards a cave in the back of the caldera surrounded by moss almost as black as midnight. He led her inside and towards the back where a forge was burning and huffing out great gouts of flame.

He turned and allowed her to look at the armor pieces lying on the stone floor crude and unfinished.

“I have begun the process for you using the ancient and secret knowledge of prismatic armor…. The armor of the saints. This will be your armor when you finish your work, and your armor when you descend from this mountain exalted. This is the end of your time with me, and there is no more I can do for you. So take up your mantle and begin your work.

Sunny nodded allowing herself to fall into the beating rhythm of metalwork, something that she had not done in a long time, but came back to her with the ease of a skil remembered, and the armor took shape underneath her hands, imperfections burned off by the flames….. A metaphor for herself perhaps.

***

Adam pulled his bag tight over his shoulder as he and Ramirez made their way towards the ship over the Tarmac. He craned his neck to look up at the familiar ship, a back monolith against the sky. The Omen, he had missed her greatly, and all of the people on it. Months of adventuring on strange planets and time to think for himself had certainly made his fondness for the ship grro.

Absence sure did make the heart grow fonder.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to look over at Ramirez,: who now had the worlds most glorious tan and a new white scar on the side of his neck, “You ready for this.”

“You better believe I am.” he looked up at the ship, “Did my girl miss me.”

“She most certainly did not!”

Jumping in surprise, he turned on his heels to see Narobi and Simon marching down the catwalk and over towards them. Nairobi’s eyes might as well have been filled with thunderheads negating the cheerful orange and yellow bandana she wore over her hair.

She marched right up to him, and jabbed him in the chest with a finger, “Do you know how hard it has been to keep this damn ship running when the person you left to captain CANNOT understand the IMPORTANCE of my work.”

Simon lifted her chin, “Admiral, the readout on the mechanical systems was negligible. I saw no danger from the elevated readings.”

“Do you have a degree in aerospace engineering? I don’t think so, and if you listened to me, you would know that ‘negligible’ can become ‘catastrophic’ very very fast.’

Adam frowned in some measure of concern, “Is the ship alright?”

“Just barely.” Nairobi snapped, no thanks to the Lieutenant.

Simon continued to hold her head high her jaw locked into palace quivering with anger.

Adam held up his hands, “Alright you two, take a few deep breaths and calm down. Nairobi, breathe in and out a few times, and next time sit Simon down and explain to her exactly what could go wrong and how it is likely to happen. Supply numbers and figures, Simon likes that sort of thing.” He turned his head towards Simon, “And Simon, It is important for you to listen to your crewmen. They are experts in their fields and know how to take care of their jobs better than you do. Let people know what you need, tell Nairobi that you need it explained to you in no uncertain terms. Your crew is what keeps your ship alive, and while you are their captain, you are also obligated to listen to their questions and their concerns . it is ALWAYS better to be on the safe side than it is to ignore a potential problem.”

Simon wilted a bit, and Narobi took a deep breath. Eyeing him with…. Some sort of expression he could not place.

She seemed almost surprised..

He ignored it for the time being setting his bag down and drawing himself up in height, “Now, what seems to be the problem.”

“One of our warp gaskets is running a little hot. I think it should be replaced.”

“Do you have a requisition form?”

She held out the holopad, “Right here sir.”

She held it out to him but he shook his head and pointed to Simon, “Simon, I want you to sign and date that. As acting captain of the ship, which you still are until I take command of the bridge.”

“Now both of you play nice.”

Nairobi frowned, but sighed as Simon grudgingly took and signed the requisition form, “We missed you Admiral, the ship….. Hasn’t been the same while you were gone.”

He smiled, “I know I bring a certain charm and roguish panache.”

“Well I was thinking that we don’t almost die nearly so much.”

Ramirez frowned and then looked at him, “You know what, she’s right but “I” i almost died like five times.” He turned to look at Narobi, “I got shot in the chest you know.”

She didn’t ook sorry for him, “Did you deserve it?”

He looked scandalized at her words, “I most certainly did not!”

Adam laughed, “it's Ramirez, of course he deserved it.”

He walked past Narobi and onto the ramp leading up into his ship. The smell was familiar, and hit him in a wave of fuel, and newly requisitioned cargo containers. At his side, Waffles trotted, staring up at him and wagging her tail, clearly happy to have him back since she hadn’t stopped looking at him like that since he returned. Letting her walk off leash she continued to circle him happily, tail whirling around like a furry sort of windmill.

As he stepped into the cargo area, the members of his crew stood up, salutation or greeting him surprising gusto.

They seemed…. Happy to see him.

It felt pretty good.

A few came up to shake his hand and ask how the extended vacation went. He smiled and glanced at ramirez, “As Ramirez here, he got shot.”

There was an eruption of voices and Ramirez excitedly began by telling his, mostly fabricated, tail about a heroic gun battle, proudly showing off his dented deputies badge. That got the reaction he was looking for as other men and women crowded around to oooo and ahhh.”

maverick , appearing from nowhere, looked around the man's shoulder, “Twenty bucks says you bought that at a gift shop somewhere.”

Adam grinned and shook his head, “You know I wouldn’t put it past him either, but actually, the first part of our vacation we visited the Bramble colony got us some horses and rode out for a little fun. We ended up getting kidnapped by bandits.”

“Like you seem to always do.”

“Yes, like I seem to always do, but it turned into a gunfight with the local sheriff’s department and after their leader got away the sheriff asked us to join him on thwarting a train robbery. Ramirez did get shot in the chest, and I got into a gunfight on the back of a speeding train.”

Maverick stared at them, “I’m not sure if I Believe that story or not.”

“You don’t have to, we have pictures and souvenirs of all the places we went .”

“Even have a picture of the guy who gave Ramirez that scar, on our last outing, but I can tell you that later.”

“YOU.”

He sighed quietly, “Here we go.”

He turned on the spot, looking over to see Krill marching up through the ship glowering at him, like only krill, out of all his species, could glower, “I-am-ao-angyr-with-you.

Adam shrugged, “What’s new.”

“Don’t get cute with me. I have been watching your vital signs for weeks, and it's been like riding a rollercoaster. I have never ridden a roller coaster, but do to this experience, I already know that I would very much hate it. You, you were supposed to be on VACATION. You were supposed to be on Vacation for mental health purposes and now i hear that you have been SHOT AT, and jumped onto the back of SPEEDING TRAINS. What makes you think that this is ok!”

“I find that putting your life in danger really brings things into perspective, doctor. Now I promise I will go visit Dr. Adric later for a second opinion, but right now, I need to go inspect my ship.” He patted Krill on the head amused when the little creature nearly burst into a flaming ball of rage. It made him laugh as he worked his way further onto the ship, finally appearing on the bridge with a deep breath.

“Admiral on deck!” Someone shouted, and the entire room raised their feet in greeting him their hands raised in excitement welcoming him back with no shortage of enthusiasm and relief. He bet he knew why. Simon was….. Well she was a bit of a stick in the mud sometimes, even more so when she got nervous. He had a feeling things on the ship had become a little more strict since he had taken his leave of absence.”

He went to go take his seat in the captain's chair and frowned, “Dammit Simon, what have you been doing here. It took him almost five minutes to adjust his seat back into its preferred position, and then when he turned on his holo projections he frowned, “Simon! What the hell did you do.”

“I reconfigured it for maximum efficiency.”

“To me it looks like you broke it. Damn where the hell is everything.”

It took him about two hours to even partially recover what simon had “fixed.” And even then he was still having trouble finding everything. He would have liked to get off the ground that day, but it didn’t seem like that was going to be happening. He dismissed the rest of the crew to rework the computers back to his preferred state.

Simon called it inefficient, but he called it comfortable and familiar, which is what mattered when it came to being a pilot. He promised her when she became the captain of her own ship she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Sitting there, alone in the dark for hours on end, he tried not to think about the one person he had hoped to see when he came back. He tried as hard as he absolutely could not tothink, but still the thoughts slipped in anyways.

He pulled the ship into orbit just before lights out with the help of the night crew, and then surrendered command to the night lieutenant giving orders to head in the direction of Europa station before he stepped out into the darkened hallway.

Alone and with his own throughs, he grew morose and sour upon thinking.

Waffles bumped her head softly against his hand and he ran his fingers along her velvety ears, “Yeah I’m an idiot.”

“Certainly.”

He jumped shocked for a moment thinking she had spoken before realising the voice….. The voice wasn’t female number one, and number two it had a certain air of condescension that he knew and recognized all too well.

“Hello Conn.”

Ethereal silver ribbons took their form around the next corner as Conn floated closer his wide black eyes shining back at Adam from the darkness, “Admiral. I am glad to see you are doing better.”

He grunted, “Save me te platitudes Conn.”

“No really, I am glad, you see I am the only one here who has to share your necrosis, which can be rather loud and bothersome sometimes when I am trying to relax.”

“I am sorry my mental anguish invoenianced you.”

“Apology accepted.”

Adam sighed deeply.

“She’s not here you know.”

He blinked feeling his skin go cold and clammy, “She’s not.”

“Yes, she has not been back for months now.”

He took a deep shaky breath, “Oh…. I see.”

“When she left, she did seem intent on returning, but I cannot know if those inclinations have changed.”

“How long?”

“She didn’t know. She was still deciding on her next course of action…. Also, you might want to turn around.”

“Turn around, why would I want to-” He was turning even as he spoke, and just in time so it seemed to be punched squarely in the jaw. He fell over backwards slamming into the floor with a loud rattle seeing stars, his face aching. He scrambled to regain himself but went slack again when he looked up and saw Cannon standing over him, a look of absolute rage on his alien face.

He grabbed Adam by the front of the shirt and hauled him upright and into the air so his feet were kicking a good two feet off the ground. He could feel the fabric of his shirt straining against his weight as he was slammed back against the wall.

“You BASTARD!”

It translated to bastard in english, but underneath the words he could hear the phrase Cannon actually used. The Slur that in Drev was more closely related to corward.

His first instinct was to struggle, but then, he thought better of it, allowing himself to go limp in cannon’s hands as he quietly said, “I know.”

Cannon slammed him back against the wall again, “NO YOU DON’T KNOW. DO YOU EVEN REALIZE WHAT YOU’VE DONE.”

He stared up at Cannon in confusion, “I-”

“No of course you couldn’t understand, you’re human. You don’t give a shit about your romantic partners, you just up and leave them, constantly. Cherry picking them and squeezing the life out of them until your done just to discard them.”

“Cannon I-”

“Drev only-love-once. Just ONCE.”

Adam blinked in surprise and shock as those words sank in.

On of Cannon’s hands migrated to his throat, and he choked against the crushing force on his windpipe, “She will never love anyone ever again, you understand. Its biology, and nature, but you humans just don’t understand that do you. You don’t understand loyalty. Instead you pick out partners like you’re going grocery shopping, or getting a taste to see which ice cream flavor you like more.”

Cannon’s grip grew tighter, “Well she is my SISTER…. Not an ice cream flavor.”

Adam’s vision was beginning to blacken and he kicked weakly in an attempt to escape.

“And then you just upland left without explanation. You left her to deal with that all on her own, and now I don't know where she is, or what she is doing.”

His hearing was echoing, and hi entier vision had gone black.

At some point Cannon must have seen his face turning purple and finally dropped him. Adam hit the floor and collapsed gasping for air and holding his neck as he rolled onto his back.

“Pathetic.” Cannon snarled

Adam was admittedly very scared, he had never seen Cannon like this before. Usually so laid back and relaxed.

He sat up still holding his neck and wheezing, ‘I get it…. I get it I fucked up. I know that, I know.”

“DO YOU! Do you understand what you’ve done!”

“She is going to be alone for the rest of her life because of YOU.”

Adam flinched holding a hand over his head to avoid being struck, “It wasn’t meant to be permanent!”

Cannon paused, “What do you mean.”

“I mean I…. well. I just wanted to be able to get myself together without hurting her more. I didn’t want to force her to be with me, when I wasn’t ready or able. Now I can see that that was a mistake I made when I wasn’t in the right place. I didn’t intend to leave forever.”

“Than why didn’t you TELL HER THAT.”

Adam scrambled backwards across the floor as Cannon came marching after him, arms held to his sides ready to fight.

Adam held up a hand to cover his face.=, and Cannon had just drawn back his fist when Both of their implants began beeping.

They paused in their Drama looking down at their arms.

Adam frowned.

Cannon tapped his wrist, “What is this?”

“ITs a transmission from Anin.” he crawled to his feet, “Come on, lets go see what this is about.”

Their Argument forgotten for the moment, the two of them ran onto the bridge and Adam pulled up the transmission, flipping it on just long enough to see a message scrawled in the Drev language to rolling across screen that translated to.

“The spirit of the mountain burns blue, and the saints have returned.”

“Spirits save us.” Cannon whispered.

Adam shook his head in consternation, “No way…. But cannon, no on has been sainted in…. In.”

“Over five centuries. We must go, as the Sentinel of our clan you will be required to appear if you are able, and anyone other Drev whose feet can carry them far enough.”

“Right, setting a course for Anin.”

*** Sunny Knelt on the stone floor of the cavern, eyes closed breathing deeply. The fire of the forges were doused and she was left in semi-darkness.

Soft footsteps approached, and she looked up slowly to find Naktan standing before her, over the neatly arranged pile of armor that glowed like a freshly polished pearl in the light above…. The armor of saints.

Only relics of similar armor had ever been found, and only ever in pieces.

This was the only full suit of its kind.

“It is time.”

He held out his hands, and in them he held a large scroll made out of the most rare of Coiltree paper, “The words written here are your words, the Doctrine of Drev martial combat and law. Penned in my own hand it contains firstly, the doctrines and second the forms of the new fighting styles to be decementated throughout the class.”

She nodded.

“Take up your mantle Saint of the Burning Sun, and so we shall begin a new age.”

She stood, and he knelt before her strapping on the first piece o her new armor from the feet up, interlocking the masterfully crafted pieces the color of pearl, stronger than steel. Until lastly he placed the helmet upon her head and locked it into place

It was heavy in a comforting sort of way.

A moment later he returned, “The last piece I gift to you is a weapon made by my own hand.” It was pearlescent like the white of the armor she no wore, “Stronger than steel, and as sharp as obsidian. None but I know the materials and methods to craft this, and none shall ever know until I pass it down to a successor.” he handed her the scroll, “Begin your trek down the mountain, and there they will be waiting to hear your words.”

She nodded, “Thank you Naktan….. Thank you.”

He placed a hand on her arm in a friendly gesture before urging her on.

She did as told walking, for the first time in so many months towards the opening of the caldera.

When she stepped outside she was momentarily dazzled by the glowing blue fire that roared up from around her.

The mountain seemed to shake and burn in ways she had not seen before erupting from all sides as if it knew.

Blue light poured off her body like water, and with her head held high she began her way down the mountain.

***

Adam and Kanan stood at the edge of the hotspring, packed in with the rest of a restless crowd. Adam’s eyes were wide, Dazzled by the glowing inferno that was the fiery blue mountain. He had never seen anything like it. It burned with such glorious blue intensity that he could scarcely look at it, and it rubmeld so violently he could feel it in his feet.

He wore his ceremonial Drev armor, all the way up to the helmet and down into the cape. A spear was held in his right hand as he stood sentinel for the Wandering tribe, next to the rest of the clan leaders that had made their trek here.

They stood, for hours and hours as the mountain burned, casing a beacon of blue light down around them.

Thousands of drev trickled in from all sides whispering and murmuring at the strange scene before them. But still they were mostly silent, unsure of what to do or how to behave. Adam didn't know what to expect.

His human leg ached under the weight of the heavy armor as the sun began to rise slowly in the distance, but discipline, discipline he had learned in his travels kept him in his place, unmoving.

They waited and waited and waited until the Sun painted the sky peach with its rising.

And from the sulfuric fog of the hotspring, the watched as a figure coalesced as a shadow in the mist, walking calmly across the open hotspring field

A asp rose up, as those, still in disbelief began to realise that this was real.

Adam stared forward engaging his mechanical eye and zooming in on the figure.

The fog parted like a curtain to reveal a glorious almost ethereal drev warrior in pearl white armor just as the sun crested over the horizon. The light hit the armor, and rays of prismatic light exploded around them.

The waiting crowd gasped and threw up their hands to cover their eyes. The light was so pright Adam had to cover his human eye, and only after he filtered out the brighter wavelengths was he able to see.

And when he did his knees went weak.

“Sunny!”

Cannon heard the words and forced himself to stare into the bright light, but after a moment of looking Adam heard him, “Spirits above….” His voice trailed off

She walked slowly and with great purpose over the steaming landscape, glittering like constellation fallen from the sky.

Adam fel his heart racing and his stomach churn in flips.

A small part of him, for a single instant bittered towards her, for going out and becoming THIS while he was away.

But then the rest of him, stamped that thought out with a vengeance feeling a glowing of pride inside for her and what she had become. She was better than he was, than he had ever been and he could see now that he had never deserved to even stand in her presence. He felt small even as pride for her burned through his veins like the molten blue fire on the mountain.

She paused just ahead of them, standing on the white bed of the hotsprings.

“Brothers and sisters.”

Her voice echoed like rolling thunder.

His heart only beat faster, his stomach turning somersaults.

“Long has it been since the spirits spoke, since they have changed the martial doctrine of our people. Long have we been left to suffer in words and actions corrupted by time and foolish interpretations. Today I am here to lead the Drev into a new and brighter age, but also to bring us back to the true and pure doctrines that once were, before being so morally corrupt. See the mountain behind me, and the armor with which I ware, and if any of you dare to challenge my legitimacy, let him step into the circle with me.”

She stared around at the crowd, her eyes seeming to glow with fire.

His heart sped up and then stopped as her eyes passed over him, and then turned to fall upon him again.

It seemed as if she could see right through him, and his innards felt s if they melted and trickled down into his leg.

“Does no one wish to challenge me.”

The plateau was silent.

“By deferring to my word you accept my legitimacy, and therefore the legitimacy of my words. THe doctrines will be handed out to all peoples young and old, for copy and study. The day changes now, and my first and greatest decree is a return to the true doctrine of the spear, “If a Kit is born above the raging fires, and possesses the ability to hold a weapon, than they shall not be cast into the fire.”

There was a gasp up around them.

“It may have one arm, or no legs, or no eyes, or be blind or be deff, or have no carapace of which to speak, but if they can hold a spear than they shall live.”

The thunder of her words rocked him to his very bones, so he could only have imagined what it did t the others, an entire people who had been living differently for hundreds of years. How would they react, would they accept her words.

But looking up at her, he knew what his choice would be.

He wouldn’t dare challenge her.

She was the truth made corporeal.

She was A saint.”

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themilky-way · 4 years

Text

under my skin {bucky barnes}

gif credit: friendzoned-by-avengers

pairing: bucky barnes x female! reader

summary: it was the little things about you that enamored him. no matter where he went, or what he did, his mind always wandered to the thought of you. how long until he acts on it? based on only human by robin loxley.

warnings: implied nsfw themes but nothing’s actually descriptive. uh the fucking delicious scent of vanilla because i’m obsessed with it lmao. ALSO if you squint, you’ll find a scene from my previous bucky fic ;)

author’s note: what da fawk 😃 i’m reposting this bc tumblr was stupid and this wasn’t showing up in the tags??? uhh okay 🤡😃

-------

there were nights when the world around you was still. the streets below the compound were silent, no horns sounding or engines running. footsteps didn’t resonate against the cold concrete of the sidewalk, and no random chatter from pedestrians or local restaurants was heard. for a city like manhattan, you had learned to appreciate nights like these and to never take them for granted. when midnight would strike and send a cool breeze through the open crack of your window, you’d drape a blanket over your shoulders and walk to the large balcony in the living room. the doors remained open behind you, as you knew everyone else was peacefully sleeping, and watched the city in front of you fade into nothing more than the whistle of the wind.

sometimes, a guest would join you. the sound of slippers padding across the marbled tiles would reach your ears, and you allowed yourself to smile. the moments that came with this particular noise were something you treasured, engraving them deeply into your mind so you could be blessed with the opportunity to look upon them again. you’d make out the silhouette that was now next to you, and even though you already knew who it belonged to, you never missed out on the chance to look at him. every now and then you’d come to find out that he was already staring, not creepily, but more of a mesmerized glare. what followed became a routine: you’d smile, coil away as heat rose to your cheeks, and then he’d place a hand on them so you’d look at him. he’d profile every feature on your skin, remembering them so as to be able to touch you again when he closed his eyes later that night. he prepared himself for one of the sweetest moments his life could ever offer him, and in turn showed you just how powerful the movement of his lips on yours could be.

bucky eventually lost count of how many times he’d fall asleep to the sweet, addicting scent of your perfume that lingered on his nightwear. the luscious smell of vanilla would work its way up to his nose, and when he’d catch it, he permitted himself to reminisce the feeling of you. when he did, it almost drove him to the brink of insanity. the sudden recollection of your fragrance when he’d connect his mouth to your neck, or even the purest parts of your body, was enough for him to worship you better than the previous encounter.

but then his mind would change the film and a different image of you appeared. now, you were sitting in front of him, trying your hardest to cure his wounds. the tiny water droplets that ran down your cheek would be wiped by the softness of his thumb, and words of comfort would spill from your lips. as he recounted this scene, his fingers would trace his scars and imagined you were the one doing it. his emotions would depict themselves in the beating of his heart, and he was almost sure that all of new york could hear it. but most importantly, he wished you could hear it. he wanted nothing more than for you to realize the things you did to him; how easily you had bucky wrapped around your finger. if you were to ask him to bring you a star, the one that glowed almost as bright as you, he’d give you the entire galaxy if he could. and he needed you to know that.

so the next evening you stood together in the balcony, and his lips carved into your own, he reluctantly pulled away to reach your ear. warm breath fanned the skin of it before you felt bucky’s teeth graze your earlobe gently, the fingers you had tangled in his hair tugging at the sensation.

“do you know the things you do to me?”

“i think i have an idea,” you breathed out. it wasn’t meant to come out as needy as it did, but you had him so close to where you needed him that you were left with no other option. caught in the spur of the moment, your mouth attached to bucky’s neck, pressing light kisses to the area. it was an act of affection, a demonstration that proved you did reciprocate his feelings.

the minute you dipped your tongue to drag it along the marks you left behind, you knew you were done for. firm, strong hands gripped your sides, pulling you closer to him than humanly possible, and that’s when you caught the impression of him. it released a gasp from your lips, consequently earning a low growl from his. it awoke something in him: a hunger-a desire-whenever he’d swallow the whimpers you made. “sweetheart, if you keep doing that-”

“i know.” that night was the first of many.

it took bucky some time to come to terms with his emotions. it was by no means an easy process; a super soldier trained to assassinate without mercy isn’t exactly deserving of affection. the countless nights spent without rest involved bucky questioning every phrase and touch of admiration you gave him. the nights that you slept in his bed, soft breaths escaping the lips he caressed only moments before, meant the world to him. over the course of this journey, a warmth began to ignite in his chest. something suddenly tugged at the pit of his stomach when you turned the corner of a room he resided in. his heart nearly jumped out of his chest whenever you’d touch him, and one of the things he loved the most was how cool your skin was compared to his.

was this love? what bucky felt? he didn’t believe so at first, pushing the thought to the very back of his brain. but one night, as your bodies’ collided and the soft sounds escaping from you mingled with the air in the room, he let the words slip out. if he were any other person, you would’ve thought it was the pleasure talking, but he wasn’t. and so you muttered the phrase back, and you let him know how much you meant it.

in truth, bucky had unknowingly let you under his skin. he was a smart man-without a doubt. yet here he was, granting this ethereal individual permission to do everything they desired. oftentimes, the possibility of this ending badly kept him preoccupied during most of the day, but when night came around again, his fears ceased to exist.

the soldier noticed that time passed rather quickly when he was in love. days turned to weeks, which then looped into months. he longed for more; whenever tony organized a gala in his ballroom, he’d much rather have his hand pulling you tight against him than converse with sam. he yearned for the public to see you were his, and belonged to only him. thus, when sam and steve dared him to ask the girl he believed was the prettiest to dance, his eyes fell upon you instantly. he got up from his seat, the glass of whiskey he was holding hitting the table a little too harshly, and went over to you. he pardoned himself for interrupting your conversation, politely requested your hand, and excused himself again.

you didn’t hesitate to question his actions, nor to even be nervous of what the others might think, just enjoyed the fact you got to be near him. the interaction was gentle, loving in every reasonable sense as it always was. you swayed nice and slow against his rhythm, the melodies of the live symphony providing the perfect elements for you to catch on quickly.

“be mine,” bucky murmured. he was serious, perhaps more than he’s ever been in his life. the tender way in which he voiced it morphed a cheeky grin on your face.

“i’m already yours.”

“no, i mean actually mine. i don’t want to keep hiding you.” you had never seen him like this. yes, bucky had spoken sincerely with you before, but it was never to the point he might spontaneously combust if he didn’t spill his thoughts. regardless of anything, the man staring at you with great concern was waiting for a response, and you had to answer.

“bucky,” you replied, mocked innocence poking at his name. “kiss me. hard.”

and by god did he kiss you.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #mcu imagine #the winter soldier #the winter solider x reader

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Fangs and Claws

Stiles is a vampire that never really cared about the people he bit or killed—until he met Derek, that is.

For @evanesdust

(You can read it on AO3, here)

The night air was cold, but it’d been so long since he’d felt it against his skin. The abysmally dark sky was lit with stars, the pale face of the moon staring down at them.

The two stood in the dark alleyway, shrouded from the outside world.

Warm blood dribbled down his chin, the man’s body growing heavier as they weakened in his arms. He felt the heat of the man’s blood fill him, warming him for just a moment and filling him with a brief nostalgia of what it had felt like to be alive.

He heard the man’s breathing grow fainter, the look of ecstasy on his face weakening as the colour began to drain from his face. The flow of blood began to slow as his pulse faded.

The man let out one last weak breath before falling completely still.

Stiles dew back, running his tongue across his lips as he savoured the thick, metallic taste of blood that lingered in his mouth. He stepped back, letting the man’s body crumble to the ground, hitting the uneven tiles of the alleyway with a sickening thud.

He looked down at the man in disgust, a twisted smile lifting the corners of his lips as he ran his tongue across his fangs.

He heard footsteps nearby and turned to see a large figure standing at the end of the alley way, his silhouette backlit but the glow of the streetlight. He stood still, his hands buried in the pockets of his black leather jacket.

Stiles let out an exasperated sigh.

“What do you want?” he said, irritation and disgust adding a sharp edge to his voice.

The silhouette took a step forward, their eyes ignited with a threatening crimson glow.

Stiles’ eyes lit up in response, his usually dark brown irises glowing with a burgundy hue as he levelled the ‘wolf with an unimpressed look.

“You can’t keep killing people,” the alpha said, his deep husky voice carried through the shadows.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He used the sleeve of his hooded jacket to wipe the blood off his chin before turning to face the newcomer.

“I’m three hundred years old,” Stiles said. “I stopped caring about morality somewhere along the line.”

The man didn’t flinch.

“If you’re here to fight me—”

“I’m here to get you to stop,” the alpha said with finality. “One way or another.”

“What? You’re hoping we can come to a compromise?” Stiles scoffed.

He took another step towards the wolf, the light shifting to reveal the man’s face.

His raven-black hair was tousled by the night breeze, his strong jaw shadowed by the thin scruff of a beard, and his pale aventurine eyes were focused on Stiles.

“I’m hoping we could be civil about this,” he said.

Stiles screwed up his face.

“You have hunters on your trail,” the ‘wolf warned him. “And the more bodies you leave behind, the closer they get to you.”

“I’ve evaded hunters for centuries,” Stiles said dismissively.

“I wouldn’t underestimate the Argents if I were you,” he warned.

“Oh? Is that so?” Stiles asked.

He took another step closer, jolting as something tore through his body.

Stiles blinked in surprise.

He looked down at himself, taking in the sight of the crossbow bolt that jutted out of his side. The rush of pain followed, the searing agony flooding through him as he doubled over.

Blood seeped from the wound, droplets of crimson splattering across the pavement.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed under his breath.

His eyes fluttered as he tried to steady himself. He blinked against the haze that swept over the world. He could only hear his breath as it rolled through his lungs, his blood thumping against his ears.

The ‘wolf spun around, searching the shadows.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing Stiles’ arm and pulling him down the street.

Stiles’ legs pedalled beneath him, making him stumble and stagger behind the man as he let the stranger drag him down the street and over to a car.

The man hauled open the door and ushered Stiles inside, quickly skirting around the hood before jumping into the driver’s seat. He turned the key, the car’s engine roaring to life.

Stiles was thrown back as the car tore away from the curb and down the street.

He let out a measured breath, trying to ignore the worried looks the man sent his way.

Stiles straightened up in his seat, leaning back against it as he tightened his jaw and curled his hand around the shaft of the bolt.

He drew in a deep breath, bracing himself, and pulled the arrow from his side.

“Holy shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth, the rush of pain making him shudder and his eyes flash with colour.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” the wolf scolded.

“Well, it’s not going to heal if the bolt is still in me,” Stiles retorted.

They drove through the empty streets and towards the isolated part of the town where manufacturing plants and old workhouses had been abandoned for years.

The glass of the streetlamps were clouded and muddy, the old bulbs strobing and flickering as they struggled to hold onto life. The surrounding buildings were decrepit: old workshops and industrial buildings, some in ruins – with buckling walls, crumpled bricks and streams of water coursing through the rubble like ravines - and others were just abandoned and tagged with crude sprawls of spray-paint.

The building they were looking for stood tall among the rest, old but not the least bit damaged.

It was a huge, intimidating industrial brown-brick building that stood at least ten storeys high; high enough to look over the entirety of Beacon Hills.

The wolf parked the car out the front of the building, turning off the engine and letting the roar die off into the quiet of the night.

“Come on,” he said as he climbed out of the car.

Stiles drew in a measured breath and reluctantly followed.

The ‘wolf made his way over to the large double doors that marked the entrance, disabling the alarm and stepping inside.

Stiles limped after him, holding his wounded side. He stopped before the threshold, looking at the man.

“What?” the man asked.

“Seriously?” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at him as he tried to work out if he was messing with him or if he genuinely didn’t know.

The man’s brow furrowed, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Stiles asked.

“Enjoying what?”

He genuinely doesn’t know, Stiles realised.

“You have to invite me in,” Stiles told him.

“What?”

Stiles’ jaw tensed, his frustration and anger made worse by the blood loss.

“I cannot enter a building unless I’m invited it,” he clarified.

“Oh,” the wolf said. “Uh, please come in?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Good enough.”

He stepped over the threshold and into the large lobby of the partially renovated building.

“Follow me,” the wolf said, heading for the winding staircase that led up to the higher floors.

Stiles did as he was told, holding onto the rail as he pulled himself up the stairs. He could feel his body weakening, his stomach growling and his mouth salivating as his hunger grew.

“I’m Derek, by the way,” he said as they climbed.

“Stiles,” he replied.

Derek led him up to the loft, pulling open the heavy iron sliding door.

Stiles stepped into the open space.

“Take a seat,” Derek said as he shut the door. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Stiles reluctantly sat down on the couch, feeling his energy drain as he let his head fall back against the cushion, lolling to one side as he looked out the large windows at the starry sky.

Derek came out of the bathroom a moment later, carrying a small first aid kit. He set it down on the small coffee table, pulling out sterilising wipes and gauze before lifting the hem of Stiles’ blood-soaked shirt.

His pale flesh had been torn by the bolt, streams of blood coursing across his side.

Derek carefully cleaned the wound, flinching whenever Stiles hissed or jolted from the pain. He turned back to the first aid kit, pulling out a needle and thread and making quick work of stitching up Stiles’ wound before taping the gauze in place.

Once he was done, he stepped back and cleared everything away.

Stiles felt his stomach tense. He doubled over, wincing in pain as he clutched his stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, his voice full of worry.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Stiles said.

“Why not?”

“When a vampire is wounded, they need blood to heal,” Stiles explained, drawing in breaths through gritted teeth. “I’ve lost enough blood that I’m on the verge of bloodlust.”

“I can’t let you go, not if you’re going to kill more people,” Derek said.

“I don’t think you’ll have a choice,” Stiles told him, his eyes burning burgundy as he glared up at him.

“What if we make a deal?” Derek proposed. “I can heal faster than a human can. You can drink my blood on the condition you don’t go after any more humans. Deal?”

Stiles looked up at him. He let out a sigh. “Deal.”

Derek sat down on the couch beside him, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch.

The bloodlust was setting in; Stiles could hear the man’s pulse, he could smell the blood in his veins.”

“You have to stop before you kill me,” Derek reminded him.

“I know,” Stiles replied, his voice tense.

Derek unbuttoned the top of his Henley and pulled the fabric away from his neck. He tilted his head slightly, exposing his throat.

Stiles hesitated, realising how much trust the ‘wolf had in him. There was nothing stopping him from killing Derek and going on a bloody rampage through Beacon Hills, and yet Derek trusted him to keep his word.

Stiles let out a small sigh, leaning forward and sinking his teeth into Derek’s throat.

The man drew in a sharp gasp as Stiles’ fangs tore into his skin, but it turned to a sigh of ecstasy as the endorphins flooded his veins. His pale aventurine eyes were blown black, his eyes fluttering slightly and his lips trembling with weak breaths.

Stiles felt the warmth of Derek’s blood flow into his mouth, relief filling him. He let out a sigh, feeling the tension and cravings subside.

Derek let out a euphoric moan as his hands fell against Stiles’ back, gently grasping at the fabric of his jacket.

Stiles expected him to push him away, but instead Derek arched towards him, inviting him closer.

It took every ounce of strength Stiles had to stay in control.

He drew back slowly, savouring the taste of the blood in his mouth. He swallowed hard, feeling the cravings subside and his wound began to heal.

Derek swayed slightly as he slumped on his side, resting against the back of the couch. His tan skin had paled, his cheeks flushed slightly as he tried to steady his breathing. His pupils were dilated but he struggled to keep his eyes open, his mind turning to cotton as the endorphins clouded his thoughts.

“You should rest,” Stiles said, his voice quiet and soft.

Derek hummed, still weary and unable to find his voice.

Stiles let out a sigh. He rose to his feet, pulling Derek’s arm over his shoulder and lifting the man to his feet. He ignored the burning pain in his side as he half-carried, half-dragged Derek over to the bed in the corner of the loft.

He laid the man down, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders.

Derek let out a sigh as he sank into his bed, his heavy eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion took its toll.

Stiles stayed by his side for a moment, watching as the puncture wounds on his throat healed over, leaving no trace.

After a while, he made his way back over to the couch, grabbing the blanket off the back of the sofa and draping it over himself as he lay down on the cushions. He lay on his back, staring out the large windows at the stars that filled the night sky.

-----------------------------

Derek woke with a start as the sound of a gut-wrenching scream tore through the loft. He threw back the blankets and leapt to his feet just in time to see Stiles run from the lounge room into the small kitchenette.

Derek ran after him, sliding to a halt as he looked down at the hunched figure in the corner of the kitchen, trying to stifle his broken sobs.

Beneath the shadows that covered Stiles’ face, Derek could see the weeping, blistering burn across the side of Stiles’ face.

The sunlight, Derek realised, looking back out towards the lounge room that was lit in the golden glow of the morning light.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked, crouching in front of Stiles.

“No,” Stiles hissed through gritted teeth.

Derek reached out to him. “Let me see.”

Stiles swatted away his hand.

“Let me see,” Derek insisted, sliding a finger beneath Stiles’ chin and gently turning his face.

Stiles let him, slowly lowering his arms to reveal the weeping welts that covered his face and the back of his shaking hands.

He hated the look of pain and pity that passed over Derek’s face.

“I’ve got burn cream and aloe vera,” Derek said, studying the burns on Stiles’ face. “It won’t help it heal any faster but it’ll take the sting off of it.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said quietly.

Derek’s eyes lingered on his face. Despite his heightened vision, he hadn’t gotten a good look at Stiles last night, and now that he was this close to him, he couldn’t help but look at him.

His dark hair was a tousled mess, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling as they caught the light. His skin was as pale as moonlight, but he did well to dress in obnoxiously clashing clothes to distract from it. Moles charted constellations across his skin like stars across the night sky. When he turned his head, Derek could see the faded pink scars of where he had first been bitten.

Even with the large burn on the side of his face, he looked fierce.

Stiles shifted under his gaze.

Derek forced himself to look away. He rose to his feet, picking up the first aid kit from where he’d set it aside on the island bench in the middle of the small kitchen. He fished out the burn cream and gauze before turning to get the aloe vera from the fridge, setting them down on the edge of the island counter.

“Help yourself,” he said before turning and leaving.

Stiles waited until his footsteps faded further away before dragging himself across the polished concrete floor. He grabbed the edge of the island and used it to pull himself up, feeling himself tremble as he struggled to stay upright.

He grabbed the aloe gel and began to treat the blistering raw wounds.

He could hear the swish of fabric from where Derek was out in the open lounge room, but he ignored it, at least until he noticed the space began to darken.

He finished bandaging up his hands and crept closer to the doorway.

The loft was in complete darkness aside from the small stream of light that came from the corner where Derek’s bed was.

He stepped into the space, looking to see Derek on a small ladder, pinning heavy blankets and makeshift curtains in place.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked over his shoulder at him, then back to the thick duvet he was pinning in place with clips. There was a hint of confusion in his voice – as if what he was doing wasn’t obvious – as well as a lighter note of pride as he said, “Making curtains.”

“Why?”

“Because sunlight hurts you,” Derek answered, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why do you care?” Stiles asked, his voice edged with frustration.

“Because, believe it or not, I don’t care if you’re a vampire, a werewolf, a human, or whatever—I don’t like it when people get hurt.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“My bleeding heart,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Derek huffed, turning back to the duvet and fixing it in place.

Stiles let out a measured breath, swallowing his pride. His voice was quiet as he said, “Thank you.”

“There’s a bathroom over there,” Derek said, pointing at the far wall. “You can clean yourself up if you want. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

Stiles nodded and made his way over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself. He turned the shower on and waited for the water to rattle through the pipes. He stripped off his blood-soaked shirt and jacket, looking down at where the bolt had impaled him.

The wound had healed over, but it was still raw; the skin over the wound was pink and his side was still tender.

He looked up at the mirror, hoping for a second, he’d catch a glimpse of his reflection in order to see just how bad the burn was, but although they were also made with nickel and chromium, the silver backing to the mirror dispersed his image, leaving only the reflection of the bathroom as the steam began to fog up the bottom of the mirror.

Stiles stepped into the shower, letting out a sigh of relief as the hot water caressed his skin. He looked down at the bottom of the shower, watching as swirls of water stained red disappeared down the drain.

He made sure to keep his bandaged hand out of the streaming water.

A short while later there was a knock at the door.

Derek cracked it open, just enough to reach in and set a pile of clothes down on the counter before shutting the door again.

Stiles finished showering, drying himself off and getting dressed.

Derek had left him a pair of jeans, a dusty blue Henley and a dark grey bomber jacket. They were a few sizes too big, but Stiles found that strangely comforting.

He stepped back out into the loft, breathing out a sigh of relief as he looked at the blocked out wall of windows.

There was a clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

Stiles crossed over, stepping into the small kitchen.

“How do you feel?” Derek asked, not looking over his shoulder.

“Better,” Stiles answered.

He crossed over to the kitchen island, lifting himself up and sitting on the countertop.

Derek turned to Stiles. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you must,” Stiles replied, somewhat resigned.

“How were you bitten?”

Stiles’ hand instinctively reached for is neck, his fingertips brushing across the faint pink scars.

“I was attacked,” Stiles answered, his voice quiet and his mind elsewhere. “The vampire who bit me was trying to raise an army. The next day, a hunter cut his head off. I ran away the first chance I got.”

“And when exactly did you lose your morality?” Derek asked, the sudden question startling Stiles.

“What?”

“You said last night that you lost your morality,” Derek reminded him. “I’m just curious about when, and why.”

Stiles let out a measured breath. He leant forward, bracing his arms against his knees as he stared down at the floor.

“Not at first. When I was first bitten, I knew someone who worked at a hospital,” Stiles told him. “He would sneak me out pints of blood that were close to their expiration date. But, one day, an earthquake struck the town; buildings caved in and the hospital was flooded with so many injured people that they couldn’t help them all. I told my friend that he should save the blood for them.”

“That was very… considerate of you,” Derek said.

“I suppose,” Stiles muttered. “But a second wave hit and he was trapped in a building as it came down on top of him. When rescuers pulled him from the rubble, he was dead.”

Derek was silent.

“I managed to make it a few weeks, hoping that if I went long enough that I could just starve myself to death—and this time I’d stay dead.”

“But it didn’t happen like that?” Derek guessed.

Stiles gestured at himself. “Clearly.”

“So what happened?”

“I was hiding in an alley when I saw this group of men picking on a boy because he was gay. They threw him to the ground and called him some rather cruel names as they beat him up. I tried to stay out of it, but the smell of his blood on the concrete sent me into a blood rage.”

Stiles sat back.

“I snapped their necks, tore open their throats, gutted them, and left them screaming and crying in fear. Hearing them beg me to let them live made me feel powerful, made me realise that I am what I am, and I can deny it all I want, but at the end of the day, I’m a monster. So I embraced that. I left my morality in that alley way and I never looked back.”

“What happened to the boy they were beating up?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I let him go.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a monster would do,” Derek pointed out, levelling Stiles with a look.

“Save your ‘You’re a vampire, not a monster’ speech for some who cares,” Stiles snarked.

Derek let out a sigh.

Stiles could see in his face that he wanted to push further, to tell Stiles he wasn’t beyond redemption or absolution, but Stiles had lived too long—killed too many people—he knew what he was; a monster.

But he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t some part of him, deep down, that wanted to hear Derek say it.

“Is it true that different bloods taste different?” Derek asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed. “A blood tends to have a stronger taste that can be quite unpalatable, B blood tends to be bitter, and O blood groups are sweet. You have O blood, by the way. But supernatural blood tastes… different. It’s hard to explain.”

He ran his hand down his face.

“I need sleep,” he muttered, sliding off the bench and dragging his feet across the floor.

“You’re welcome to take the bed,” Derek offered.

“Pass,” Stiles replied, sluggishly walking over to the couch and curling up on the cushions.

When he woke hours later, here was a blanket draped over him and a throw cushion nestled under his head like a pillow.

He looked over to where Derek sat on his bed, leaning into a thin strip of sunlight as he read an old hardcover book.

Stiles nestled into the warmth of the blanket, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips slightly.

-----------------------------

Before Stiles knew it, he’d spent weeks at Derek’s. Derek had installed proper blackout curtains across the wall of windows that he pulled open once the sun had set so that they could look up at the stars.

Derek kept his word; he willingly offered himself to Stiles and let the vampire drink. And when the endorphins clouded his mind, Stiles took care of him.

As the days went by, Stiles began to stretch out the time between feedings, waiting until he was on the verge of bloodlust but still able to control himself enough that he wouldn’t hurt Derek or take it too far.

Derek noticed, but he pretended not to.

The longer they spent together, the more they got to know each other.

Bit by bit, Stiles felt the walls he’d spent centuries building up slowly crumble, until one day they toppled down completely.

Derek was getting ready for bed, foregoing the nightly argument over who should get the bed or the offers to share. Instead, he was lecturing Stiles about his attitude and what it would make others think about him.

“I don’t care what other people think about me,” Stiles argued. “I care what…”

“What?” Derek prompted.

“I care what you think of me,” he admitted.

Derek was taken back. “Why?”

“I don’t know why,” Stiles said, turning away from him. “I just… do.”

Derek turned to walk away, but stopped and turned to Stiles, his pale aventurine eyes studying him.

“I have a question for you,” he started.

Stiles looked up at him. “What?”

“If things had been different and you had a choice, would you have chosen not to kill anyone?”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but the words fell short of his lips. He shut his mouth, pursing his lips together as he dropped his gaze.

Yes, he thought.

Derek didn’t wait for an answer, he turned back to his sectioned off room, leaving Stiles sitting alone in the silence.

He felt the tears roll down his cheek before he realised he was crying, the tears falling from his chin and shattering cross the polished concrete floors like glass.

“I never wanted this,” he said breathlessly, his voice barely audible, but Derek heard him.

The man turned back to Stiles, looking back at the figure that lay hunched over on the couch. He crossed back over to Stiles’ side.

Stiles looked up at him, his tear-filled eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His pale cheeks were dampened as his tears fell.

“I never wanted…” Stiles’ voice broke off as he drew in a broken breath, dropping his gaze o the floor again. “I never wanted to be a monster.”

Derek knelt in front of him, sliding a finger under his chin and gently coaxing him to look up. Derek’s heartbreak was reflected in his eyes.

“You’re not a monster,” he said softly.

“You don’t know,” Stiles said. “You don’t know the things I’ve done… How many people I’ve killed.”

Derek’s heart broke; Stiles was so broken.

Tears streamed down Stiles’ face.

“Tell me,” Derek started, his voice quiet and soft. “Why did you kill those men who were attacking the boy?”

“I told you, the smell of the kid’s blood sent me into a blood rage,” Stiles answered.

“But why did you kill them, and not the kid?”

Stiles paused, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I felt sorry for him. He’d done nothing wrong.”

“And what about the guy the other night?” Derek asked. “Why did you go after him?”

Stiles thought back to the man in the alley.

“He’d been beating his son,” Stiles answered.

“Can you name a single person you killed who didn’t –in some way – deserve to be punished?” Derek asked.

Stiles thought for a moment. He shook his head.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re a monster,” Derek said. “A vigilante, maybe, but not a monster.”

Stiles met his gaze, the light from the nearby lamp turning his dark brown irises into pools of gold as he looked at Derek.

Derek looked back at him, his stern features soft and his eyes sincere.

He reached out and took Stiles’ hands in his.

Stiles flinched at the warmth of the man’s touch, a shiver dragging itself down his spine, but he didn’t look away from Derek’s eyes.

Derek gently brushed the ball of his thumb across the back of Stiles’ hand, carefully caressing the tender pink mark from where the sunlight had burnt him days ago.

He leant in close, his face hovering centimetres from Stiles’. He waited for Stiles to push him away, but he didn’t.

He rested his forehead against Stiles’, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Stiles tilted his face, closing the distance between them and bringing their lips together in a tender, sweet kiss.

Derek lifted his hand to Stiles’ face, gently cupping his pale cheek. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as he looped his arms around Derek’s neck, balling the fabric of his Henley into his fists and desperately clinging to him.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. He ran his tongue across Stiles’ bottom lip and moaned as he obediently opened his mouth to welcome Derek’s tongue.

Stiles sighed in return, lifting a hand to the nape of Derek’s neck. He wove his fingers into Derek’s hair, pulling soft tufts into his fist as the other hand running down the man’s shoulder, bicep and back, wanting to feel every inch of him.

His lungs burnt so much he wanted to cry but he desperately didn’t want to let go. He fell weak in Derek’s arms.

Derek drew back, licking his lips and grinning at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again. He kissed him lightly, drawing away quickly as he craned his neck and placed a trail of kisses across the boy’s cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. He stayed there, gently sucking and nipping at Stiles’ pale skin and moles; brushing his teeth against them just hard enough to make the young man moan but not hard enough to leave a mark. He pressed soft kisses against the pale marks of the scars from when he’d been bitten before slowly trailing back up the curve of his neck and brining his lips to Stiles’ again.

Stiles grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling Derek on top of him as he fell back against the couch cushions.

Derek shifted, straddling Stiles’ waist and pinning him against the sofa as they lost themselves the kiss.

Finally, Derek drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Stiles’ as the two of them fought to catch their breath.

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, his dark irises glowing with a burgundy hue.

Derek’s eyes lit up in return.

A fanged smirk slowly turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips.

Derek let out a breathless chuckle, leaning forward and bringing their lips together again.

They stayed that way the rest of the night.

-----------------------------

Words could not describe how beautiful Stiles was as he lay stretched out across the bed, the silvery moonlight illuminating his pale skin.

Derek couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

They’d been together for months, but it felt like longer—it felt like they were meant to be together.

Derek rested his head on the pillow, staring lovingly into Stiles’ eyes as he ran his fingers down Stiles’ bare chest, down to where the rippling blanket covered his waist.

His soft fingertips brushed across the fading scar from where the bolt had impaled him. His hand lingered there for a moment, his soft expression turning to one of pain as he looked down at Stiles’ side.

“I never said thank you for that night,” Stiles said, his voice quiet.

“You didn’t have to,” Derek replied, looking back up at Stiles.

Stiles met his gaze. A soft smile played across his lips as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. He gently cupped Derek’s cheek and leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a tender, loving kiss.

He drew back slowly, resting his forehead against Derek’s as he whispered, “Thank you.”

Derek smiled back at him, craning his neck and bringing their lips together again.

#long post #text post #sterek #sterek au #sterek vampire au #vampire stiles #vampire!stiles #sterek fanfiction #sterek fanfic #sterek fic #please read tags on ao3 #for evanesdust #evanesdust

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

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Fictober 2021 1- “I need you”

Fanfiction or Original Fiction: Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (with mention to Nijigasaki High School Idol Club)

Summary: FTL is boring. Garrus doesn’t know what to do with himself until he gets a strange message out of the blue. What’s he going to find in that storage room, and who knew humanity’s first Spectre was such a fucking hipster when it came to music?

---

It was in his quiet moments that Garrus had to wonder how the hell he had wound up on a human ship in the first place.

Right then, he was having one of those quiet moments to reflect on as he stood around trying to plan his next move. They had just left a planet behind with plans to return to the Citadel in order to report on their findings. That left plenty of FTL time to get jobs that got pushed to the side during busier moments done. Problem was… he had finished all his.

Who knew being efficient could be such a downside? Damn his ability to get things done.

With nothing better to do, he had found himself once again down in the cargo hold, watching as people went about their business. Off to the side, some techs were trying to fix the Mako after it had been put through its paces. Just looking at its scratched, dented hull made his stomach queasy, especially when it revved to life to test the engine.

He was never getting in that fucking thing again if he had any say in the matter. Of course, he didn’t, but it was the thought that counted.

“Yeah…good luck with that.” He turned away, half content to count the boxes. To say he was bored out of his mind was putting it mildly. There was just nothing for him to do right then except people watch and try his best to stay out of the way. Given he was the only turian on a mostly human ship, that was probably something useful. Maybe he could use it as training?

…

Nah. Even he couldn’t float that one.

“Better go find something to do I guess.” He moved off from his box, heading towards the elevator. Garrus only got a few steps, though. Much to his surprise, his wrist began to beep with the sound of a new message.

“Huh, that’s weird.” He flipped his wrist over, the screen soon glowing before him. It was from a human address, that much was for sure. There was only one line of text, but the sight of it made his mandibles twitch.

I need you.

“What the…” Garrus realized it was coming from the Normandy, and nearby too if the trace he had on his omnitool was anything to go by. Well, he didn’t have anything better to do, so off he went to track the source.

It took him down a hallway, then another. It would be a miracle if he found his way back after, but he wasn’t worried about that. The strange message spurred him on as he took a left, and then a right. Then he was alone, standing in front of a door labeled storage.

Well… that was weird.

“Uh… is someone in there?” His voice carried down the empty hallway. “I got your message…”

The skittering sounds on the other side of the door stopped, then it was followed by muffled swearing as something dropped and scattered all over the place. A few seconds later, and the door lock turned from red to green, and the soft clicking let him know he was free to go through.

Well, might as well.

“I’m coming in…” The door slid open, and he stepped through. However, he didn’t really get too far as he glanced around. On the bright side, he was pretty sure nobody was dying anytime soon. On the other hand… what the fuck?

“Oh, hey there. Glad you got my message, didn’t think it would send down here.”

“You know, when you said, ‘I need you’ this wasn’t really what I was expecting…”

Garrus’ eye twitched as he glanced into the room. To put it bluntly, it was a mess. There were boxes everywhere, and some of them had spilled their contents onto the floor. In the midst of this chaos stood was the possible cause, holding a now emptied box and looking rather sheepish as he glanced at the floor around him.

For a small man, humanity’s first Spectre really knew how to make a mess.

Shepard chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I bit off more than I could chew.”

He put his box on a nearby shelf, sighing as soon as it was down. “These were a lot heavier than I thought they would be. Do you think you could give me a hand getting this put away? I was hoping to have it done before we exit FTL.”

A thousand thoughts ran through Garrus’ mind as he watched the Spectre continue to clean. Firstly, and most importantly of all – why was this his job? Last he had checked, Shepard was the CO on the Normandy. If he had wanted the mess cleaned up, he could’ve ordered one of the crew members to do it without much pushback. That was kind of the perk of being a CO, or so he had been told.

Maybe humans preferred all hands-on deck…

“Uh, sure…” He stooped to pick up a box, the contents rattling as he slotted it on the shelf. Then another box met the same fate. Now they had a little more room to move. “Why are you doing this by yourself anyway?”

Shepard’s cheeks were turning pink as he lifted a box. “I ran out of other stuff to do the last time we went into FTL drive.”

…

Well, shit. He could appreciate that.

The Spectre kept talking as he moved. “I knew it was a mess down here, so I figured I could clean it up while we headed back to the Citadel. Bo was supposed to do this with me, but she’s still in the medbay.”

Bo… Garrus couldn’t put a face to that name as he kept moving. Was there someone named that on the Normandy? Hell, he didn’t know… human names were weird. Whoever they were, he wasn’t too fond of them right now as he continued his menial labor.

“Oh, she’s the big human with pink hair. You know, the other Commander Shepard here?”

… Apparently, humans were psychic. Good to know.

Much to his surprise, Shepard startled chuckling at his startled expression. It wasn’t a bad sound, just odd. Humans always sounded odd to him, and that was with the translator working overtime. Whatever they actually sounded like, he didn’t know and honestly didn’t want to find out. He could live without that mystery being solved, thank you very much.

He didn’t hate humans; he just didn’t really care.

“How did you…”

The human kept chuckling as he reached for another box. “I remembered we never gave you our names when you started working with us. Doubt you’d hear it anyway among the crew, I don’t even know if they know them. Joker does, but hell if he ever uses them.”

That Garrus could understand. Turians were also on a last name basis in the chain of command. He honestly couldn’t remember what the names of his last CO’s might have been, and he didn’t really need to either. It was strange, but oddly comforting to know humans were on the same page.

Then again, as far as he knew it was just because they hadn’t asked. He doubted that, though. They were curious bastards.

“Ah. Well, she was pretty banged up from the last mission, no surprises there.” He put another box down. “Though she seems the type to sneak out of the medbay when she gets bored.”

That earned him a snort of laughter from Shepard as he continued to work. “You can say that again.”

“Fine. She seems- “

Shepard held up his hand, chuckling a little. “Sorry, that’s a human expression. You don’t have to actually say it again.”

Humans and their damn expressions. You think he would’ve learned by now to never take them at face value…

Still, Garrus kept on his work. With the two of them, the work went faster. Before long, a good chunk of the floor had been cleared. There were still plenty to be moved, but at least they could get by without bumping into each other. His carapace was still vibrating from having slammed into the human a few times, so he was glad for that.

“Alright, just a few more.” Shepard sounded cheery as he grabbed for a box on a nearby table. It must have been heavy, because he grunted and pulled back hard. Maybe a little too hard – the turian got to watch as he started to lean back. “Oh sh- “

It was instinct that led Garrus forward. Instead of the floor, the human hit the front of his armor with a hearty thunk. At least the box didn’t hit the floor – his talons were soon on it, steadying it. Just like he thought, it had been heavy – too heavy for the human. Even he felt a bit of the strain as they stood there in the middle of the floor.

“Fuck.” Shepard’s expletive hissed between his teeth as he and Garrus did their best to get the box where it needed to go. “Damn thing was heavier than it looked.”

The turian resisted an eyeroll as he slid it into place. “How about you sweep the floor and leave the box lifting to me? The only shelf space left is above your head anyway.”

That was probably a mistake. He hadn’t been around many humans, but he knew the smaller ones often had issues if their lack of height was brought up. Being on the Normandy long enough had shown him its CO was smaller than most of the crew by significant amounts. Maybe that was why he braced for the fallout.

Instead, Shepard nodded. “Yeah… that’s probably for the best. Thanks for the save, Garrus.”

He glanced around, and his pink cheeks started to turn red. “Uh… I can’t get the broom if you’re keeping me pinned against the shelf. Mind backing up a little?”

Huh?

Garrus blinked as he realized the position he was in. Shepard was right – he had the smaller man up against the shelf without any room to get out. They were practically touching they were so close, and he could actually smell the human thanks to the lack of distance. Surprisingly, he was rather sweet – kind of like a baked good.

Did humans make that smell naturally? If they did, he was kind of jealous.

“Oh… right, sorry.” He backed up, allowing Shepard to slide out. The human was soon grabbing for a broom and beginning his task. This left him to do the same, and then were soon absorbed in their individual chores.

Thanks to this, they fell into a rather easy silence that Garrus hadn’t found since coming onto the Normandy. While he didn’t exactly enjoy this kind of grunt labor, there was a weird sort of calm to it as he continued to shift boxes around. In the end, it was all work with his talons and none with his brain.

With everything they had been going through, he needed the break.

“This boulevard that leads to tomorrow has flowers blooming along it…”

A soft voice drew him out of his weird state of meditation. He turned around, still holding a box, to investigate the source. Much to his surprise, he saw that Shepard was still sweeping up. Not only that, but he had also started to sing as he cleaned.

“I’ll take the courage that you gave me and hold it close…” He was still sweeping, his voice barely above a whisper. It was surprisingly high, especially compared to his speaking voice. “We made this promise with smiles… And I’ll make it bloom…”

He broke off into humming at that point as he moved the broom across the floor. Garrus’ translator was going overtime as it translated. Songs were much harder than speech, so it took a few moments of feedback for the translation to spit out. However, it was doing so against his visor soon enough, a turian voice in his ear.

That… well, it wasn’t a song he would have expected from a space marine. Frankly, it sounded more appropriate for a teenage girl.

“And I promise to you… I want to tell you so many thank yous~” Shepard held the last note, pointing his broom at the last moment. Then he swirled around, obviously following some unknown dance routine. Unfortunately for him, that made him face Garrus.

Well… shit.

The color drained from the human’s face as he stopped singing abruptly. His cheeks turned pink as he put his broom back down on the floor and started to sweep faster. Something about his posture made the turian feel… well… kind of guilty.

Why, he had no idea. It wasn’t like he had done anything…

Still, Garrus frowned at the tension that filled the room. His mandibles twitched as he tried to think of an excuse or something to break the ice. However, he couldn’t find anything to say. They didn’t exactly cover catching a fellow soldier singing a strange little song during cleaning in basic for obvious reasons. He was kind of on his own.

He hated that.

“Sorry… I forgot I wasn’t alone.” Shepard’s voice was back to where it usually was as he kept his eyes on the floor. “It would be great if you didn’t tell anyone about that, thanks.”

Garrus allowed a nod as he picked up the last box to put it away. “Uh, no problem. I don’t think I’ve heard that song before. Is it from Earth?”

“I’d be surprised if you had, it’s old as hell and from a really niche genre.” Shepard chuckled rather sheepishly as he reached for the dustpan once he had finished with the floor. “God, that must make me sound like such a hipster.”

It did, but Garrus wasn’t going to say it. After all, the guy was kind of his CO at the moment. Kind of went against the code, you know?

“Could you… send it to me maybe? I’m kind of curious now.”

Now he was the one being stared at. Shepard had stopped sweeping, and his wide eyes were trained. Garrus felt his mandibles twitch as he looked around the room, wondering if he had said something wrong. Was he not supposed to ask? Did humans have some weird taboo about asking for music from people?

Spirits, knowing him he had walked straight into some diplomatic snafu. Oh well, he’d had a good life…

“You really want to listen to it?”

There was no denying it – Shepard sounded excited. Garrus in his relief almost missed the fact the other man’s posture had completely changed. No more was he turned in on himself in embarrassment. Now he was wide open, eager – his eyes were practically sparkling.

Talk about a change.

“Uh… sure. You have my address, so send it over.”

Shepard was already typing on his omnitool, grinning. “I’ll send a few over. If you like them, I have plenty more. They were a little different from the other groups in their company, but I really enjoy listening to them. A few even made it to my battle playlists. What can I say, nothing like chase or dive to get you going.”

Well… at least he wasn’t the only one to make battle playlists. That was good to know. At least they had something in common.

Garrus nodded at this, seeing the email already in his inbox. “Thanks, I’ll let you know what I think once I listen.”

He glanced around the room – from the looks of things, they were done. “Do you need any more help, or should I get going?”

“Oh, you can head off. I just need to finish sweeping.” He was smiling now. “Thanks for your help, Garrus. You’re a real lifesaver.”

Something about that made his stomach shift. Garrus at least managed a nod as he left, the door sliding shut behind him. He should have started moving, but something made him stay by the door, quiet.

He was probably wasting his time… but…

“The future we envisioned… let’s make it a reality someday…”

Yep. He was singing again.

Maybe that was why Garrus stayed by the door for just a bit longer to listen. Sure, there were better singers – and ones who could do it without blushing like idiots – but something about the Spectre’s voice was soothing. He had a nice voice, even if most of the time he used it to get the crew out of trouble.

He could get used to listening to it…

“Shit, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He shook his head, but yet Garrus didn’t move. After all, he wanted to hear the end of the song. Maybe later, he could compare the two. Until he had to, however, he was content to stay by that door.

Maybe he’d get an encore out of it. If all their FTL went like this… maybe the Normandy wasn’t so bad after all. He could get used to this.

#fictober21 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #Alistair is a pure aspect in the pure-cool-smile triad #just in case anyone was in both fandoms lol

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thelordofdarkreunion · 4 years

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Magnificent Scoundrels- Pariah

This was an absolute blast to write. I find that the interactions between the different cultures and battles scenes are probably the most fun to write, in my opinion. Here, we have more Vir and Cain. We are introduced to Conn, so shenanigans will most definitely ensue. I’m not quite sure if they’re the type of shenanigans you’re thinking of though...

As always, none of these characters belong to me. Enjoy the story!

Aboard the Omen

Things had gotten better. Tensions were much lower, thanks to Simone’s suggestion that Cain watch the Omen’s ground forces and Vir take up the Commissarial duties of the Valhallans. Both groups seemed to be more comfortable with each other. There were still competitions, of course, and they were still exceptionally competitive, of course, but they had lost their malevolent edge. Much was still to be learnt, however. Each side still retained quirks and habits that, to the other, seemed exceptionally odd.

The common Imperials were still xenophobic. A lifetime of teachings and practice couldn’t be changed in a matter of days or weeks. While both Vir and Cain preaching tolerance certainly helped, it did not eliminate the problem all together. It had gone from ‘I’m going to possibly shoot you on sight’ to ‘stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.’ A definite improvement, all things considered.

There were still other oddities, as mentioned before. Not counting the posting of armed guards, any crew member of the Omen could instantly tell where the Valhallan quarters aboard the ship were. As benefitted ice worlders, their comfortable ambient temperature was slightly higher than freezing, and they set the air conditioning in their section of the ship to match. Vir found himself wearing heavy winter gear when he stayed with them for extended periods. He was also fairly certain there were a couple of them camped out in the cooling ducts, but there were no reports of damage or any mechanical problems, so he decided to let that slide.

However, Admiral Vir and his crew were a lot better off than the Imperials, seeing as they were used to strange and occasionally egomaniacal aliens aboard their ship. They had open minds.

To the Imperials, everything was just so… bizzare. It was like being in a completely other dimension. Here, aliens and humans got along. Talked together, fought together, laughed together. The Admiral was not a distant figure of authority, but instead more like a wise and older friend, ready to help you along any path you chose. Hell, the ship’s officers talked with the crew. You could actually see them walking through the halls. On Imperial vessels that transported soldiers, the Naval crew stayed in their area, and the infantry in theirs, with only the high ranking officers speaking to each other.

Then there was the ship itself. Like any proud naval personnel, the crew of the Omen liked to brag about their vessel. Apparently, it was brand new. Brand. New. Only in service for a year or more. What kind of ship was that? Usually, the troop ships of the Imperium were in service for centuries, if not millennia, and the Naval fighting platforms even longer. The oldest vessel Cain had ever been aboard was the massive battleship Throne Eternal, built during the days of the Great Crusade, some ten thousand years before.

Perhaps it was the fact that the ship was brand new, but it was so incredibly clean. The hallways were neat and sterilized. There was no accumulated grime. No comforting iconography. From the outside, the ship looked like a brick. It was all steely grey metal. It was so strange. So foreign. So distinctly… un-Imperial.

But, in the end, despite the oddities, it could be said that things were a lot more calm aboard. And so, it was with no small amount of alarm that Admiral Adam Vir remembered that Conn was aboard the ship.

Conn was an alien, which would have already put him on the Imperial’s bad side. But that, in and of itself, was not the problem. You see, Conn was a starborn, quite possibly the most unusual alien species in the galaxy. Ghostlike, they were small, white, and lived in the cold void of space. Accustomed to the blackness, they could not survive in any areas with gravity’s pressure without external help. But, much like an annoying infomercial, there was more. Starborns were natural telepaths. They could read the minds of almost any living being. Conn in particular was quite annoying about it. He reveled in the sensation of knowing everyone’s deepest secrets, and made no qualms about being nice about it. Most of the crew, Adam in particular, found him, to put it mildly, extremely annoying. He was kept around because he wasn’t truly malicious, despite indications otherwise, and his usefulness outweighed his flaws.

Vir had a sort of… connection with Conn. Due to an unfortunate accident that resulted in the loss of his eye, part of his brain had been skewered, making it easier for him to communicate telepathically. The strangest part of all of this was the fact Vir hadn’t heard from Conn the entire voyage. That was definitely not a good thing. Who knew what sort of mischief that could be wrought. He was fairly certain that Conn was not missing because he was wise enough to stay hidden from the Imperials. No. Something else was afoot.

So, with trepidation, he began his search.

Conn was not in any of his usual haunts. He wasn’t floating around annoying people, wasn’t where he usually lurked in the medical bay. No one had seen him. Not the engineers, the doctors, the marines, or any of the bridge crew. How very odd. It seemed as if no one had heard from him from the moment they had set off. So Vir had to do it the old fashioned way: wander around the ship, thinking as loud as he could to attract Conn’s attention.

It was only when he started to go in the passageways closest to the exterior of the hull that he started to get a response.

Conn? Conn? Can you hear me? Where are you?

I can’t hear… Emptiness. Void. Nothing. Nothing. He’s nothing. Nothing!

Conn? Where are you?

The darkness. Alone. Pain. Can't hear voices. Can’t hear thoughts.

Conn! Where are you? What’s wrong? I can’t help if you don’t tell me.

Slowly, through the telepathic link, he started to see where Conn was. Outside the vessel. Starborn were more comfortable and could survive in space. Conn was known to go in and out of the airlock of his own free will… but that didn’t explain why he had been there for so long. It also didn’t explain the strange mutterings and thoughts.

Adam? You’re here. You can hear me. Good. Not alone anymore. Something was very wrong. Conn was a jackass, through and through. Vir had never heard thankfulness and relief from him before.

Yes. I’m here. He tried to make the thought as reassuring as possible. Conn, what’s wrong? What is the problem?

It’s him. The closest thing to a mental hiss came with that word. He’s nothing! Pain. Misery. Alone with my thoughts!

Conn-

The void! Blackness. I can’t hear anything! I can’t hear!

Conn. Calm down.

Yes! Yes. The second yes was much more calm.

You can’t hear others’ thoughts? Is that it?

Yes. A vigorous telepathic nod.

Why? I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before.

It’s because of him! The thoughts were becoming hysterical again. He snuffs it out. He’s a void, a-

Conn! Stay focused. Who is he?

He- ARGHH! The mental connection was abruptly cut as a searing pain shot through Vir’s body. He collapsed to his hands and knees. He felt as if he did a long time ago, wounded and feverish during the Drev War with no painkillers. His mind was white hot, his body wracked with agony. The edges of his vision started to turn black. No! Don’t pass out! rebelled some far away part of his mind.

“Admiral!” said a voice, seemingly far away. He focused on the voice. Deep breaths. Come on. Stay conscious. The blackness receded. The voice got stronger.

“Admiral, sir! Are you all right?” asked someone hesitantly. Vir shifted his weight to his side and clutched his head. What the hell happened?

“Yeah, I think I’ll be alright,” he murmured. He shook his head to clear it of any last vestiges of pain. “What was… doesn’t matter.” He turned, and found himself face to face with a most unexpected individual. Jurgen, the Commissar’s aide.

“Good to know that you’re alright, sir.” A grimy hand reached out and handed Vir a data pad. “The Commissar wanted me to give you this.”

“Ah, yes. Personnel rosters. Thank you, Jurgen. I won’t take up any more of your time.” Jurgen saluted and walked away, leaving Vir staring, perplexed, at the pad in his hands.

Vir lay on his bed, gazing at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. The mystery of Conn’s telepathic severance was dancing through his mind. What was he talking about? Some sort of void… Some strange monster, lurking in space, perhaps? No. Think logically. Go through this step by step. What do you know? First, Conn was isolated. There was something severing his telepathic communication. Second, that something was a someone. It was a he. Third, this hadn’t happened before the Imperials had arrived on board. Therefore, logically, this person was one of the Imperials, causing the cutting of telepathic communications and pain to anyone using them. Okay. Good. We’ve established that. Now what? Who was doing it? Were they even aware they were doing it? How was it even possible to do something like that? Some strange technology? Possible. That made sense. Perhaps they had fought some telepathic aliens in their galaxy, and developed something to stop it.

But, still. He squirmed slightly. How… who… what… why? None of this made sense. How to get to the bottom of this mystery? He couldn’t figure it out, so perhaps someone else could. Cain? Cain would probably know. But did he trust Cain? That was an entirely different matter. It could be on Cain’s orders. Hell, it could be Cain himself. Cain’s aide? Out of everyone aboard, Vir had a nagging feeling that something was wrong with that man. Plus, the pain had only started when Jurgen had come close to him…

So… Jurgen, then. Most likely suspect. But how? How could he find out? Hmm…

A search of the Imperial quarters and armory yielded no results. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. While their equipment was strange, everything he found had been earlier explained to him. Nothing. So either it was a device small enough to hide on a person, or it wasn’t a device at all. Conn had said he. Perhaps it had nothing to do with technology.

Vir decided, therefore, to have Katie and Kril, the ship’s doctors, to test every single one of the Imperials for anything strange. HIdden behind the facade of making sure they were disease free, they all had a physical examination done, and blood and tissue samples drawn. It was… less than helpful.

Kril did the equivalent of a human sigh as he put down the blood readouts. Katie was still studying them with perplexity.

“So, did you find anything out of the ordinary?” asked Vir.

“That’s the problem. Everything is out of the ordinary,” replied Kril.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that- well, let me explain. So, you know how evolution works, right? Over time, all organic species naturally evolve.” “Yes. And?” asked Vir. He didn’t see where this was going.

“So, Drake gave you timelines for all of our galaxies, didn’t he? He says, and from what I can tell, he’s right, that our timelines split somewhere around the year 2000. Now, every single one of our galaxies is in a different time since then. Most of the other galaxies are around the early second century C.E., in human measurements. Ours and Drake’s are in the early fourth centuries C.E. Cain and the Imperials are from 40,000 C.E. Plus, none of them are from Earth, whereas most everyone else we’ve met is from Earth or from a planet close enough to Earth for the evolution tendencies not to be affected in any major way. So, to sum up, most of them are from an ice planet 38,000 years in the future. We have no idea what we’re seeing here. All of these genes are very different from the human’s I’ve studied before. I can’t tell what’s abnormal or not. I could figure it all out, but it might take a month or more.” Wonderful. Vir sighed.

“Thanks for trying Kril. I guess I’ll have to figure this out some other way.”

Now he was back in his bed, mulling things over. This had to stop. He couldn’t allow Conn, annoying as he was, to suffer like this. Conn was, after all, part of his crew. There was no other solution. He had to see Cain. But, what if Cain was doing this, or it was being done on his orders? Vir looked over to the suit of Iron Eye armor resting gently in its place. He walked over, and started to buckle on the plates. This had a liability to get messy.

Cain looked up at the sharp knock on the door. Jurgen hadn’t stopped whomever it was, so it must be Vir.

“Come in,” he replied politely. Sure enough, Vir walked through the door into his borrowed quarters. “Admiral Vir. A pleasure to see you. What brings you here today?” Vir shifted, slightly uncomfortable. This was going to be awkward, at the very least. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you, though.” He gave a slight cough. “I wondered if I might talk to you, however.”

“Of course,” replied Cain. “What about?” Vir scratched the back of his neck.

“Uh, well, there’s no easy way to put this.” He took a deep breath to compose himself. “You see, there are some crew members that you haven’t seen before.”

“I rather had the feeling. More… aliens, no doubt.”

“Heh. Yes. However, there is one in particular. He is of a, uh, most peculiar species… well, he can read minds,” finished Vir lamely. Cain looked up sharply from where he was sitting, fingers moving instinctively for his weapons.

“What?”

“Yes. You heard me right. However, that is not the problem,” concluded Vir.

“And what would the problem be?” asked Cain warily, his hand inching closer to his sidearm.

“The problem is, he can’t. There is something or someone aboard this ship that blocks his mental communications and causes him untold agony. Now, while I personally find it annoying and distasteful to have my mind read, especially by him, he is in quite a lot of pain. This only started when you boarded. I’m not sure what is causing this, and I am not insinuating anything, but it has something to do with someone in your regiment, and I would like it to stop.” Cain stared at him with a calm and considered look.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Admiral Vir. I know nothing about aliens, so it could be something wrong with him,” he replied.

“I don’t think so,” said Vir. “You sure you don’t know anything about this?”

“No,” replied Cain. Vir sat up from his chair. One more card to play.

“Absolutely sure? Not even anything that has to do with, say, your aide?” Cain looked up at him, this time with a completely neutral expression on his face.

“I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, Admiral. Good day.” Damn. Fine. Got to go out on a limb here. Vir leaned over the table, his earlier expression of calm gone, replaced with the attitude he assumed around unruly subordinates.

“Don’t bullshit me, Cain. You know what’s going on. And I will find out eventually, with or without your help. So if you want me to trust you, you’re going to tell me now.” Cain sighed, stood up, walked past Vir, and locked the door. Vir tensed, hidden Iron Eye servos whining, ready for any sudden movements. There were none. Cain stood face to face with Vir. He’s tall, idly mused some unnecessary part of Vir’s brain. Cain drew his pistol and held calmly out at his side.

“You are not going to tell anyone what is said here. If you do, if any sort of word of this gets out in any way, I will kill you,” he said in a deadly serious tone. He looked around, then sighed. “My aide, Jurgen, is a blank.” Vir gave him a look that plainly said ‘elaborate.’ Cain suddenly got a strange look in his eyes, then raised his gun a fraction. “If his powers work on your xeno telepath… then that means it has some sort of connection to the Warp.” The pistol came up, pointing directly between Vir’s eyes. “So now, you are going to tell me everything.” Vir struggled to remain calm. Cain wasn’t going to kill him, yet. He was fairly sure this was just another misunderstanding.

“I don’t know anything about any Warp. Conn is a straborn. They are born in space, and they can read minds naturally. That’s it.” Cain still looked as if he were going to put down the gun, then looked up sharply again.

“Innocentia nihil probat,” he murmured. “Jurgen! Get in here!” The door opened, and Jurgen stepped through. Apparently he had the key.

“Yes, Commissar?” Cain turned to Vir.

“We are going to search your ship. If you have nothing to hide, then you have nothing to fear.” Vir opened his mouth to make an objection, which Cain forestalled with a raised hand. “I learned a long time ago that it is better to explain too much caution than bleed for not enough.” He put a small communications node in his ear, then keyed it. “Colonel Kasteen, ready the regiment. Search the entire ship for any signs of Chaotic taint. This is a precaution, but you know what to do.” Cain turned once more to a bewildered Vir. “Tell your men to stand down. If they resist, they die.” He stepped back, then gestured towards the door. “After you. And, remember, our conversation was still confidential. If you tell anyone, you die.”

A cliffhanger. I know. Originally, I didn’t intend for it to end like this, but this is the way the story went and this is how this scenario would play out of the conversation actually took place. Above all, I strive to remain as accurate as possible to how these characters would actually interact, so that is why this went the way it did. I will have the ending to this up as soon as possible, so don’t worry! Wherever you are, have a great day.

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my story #my writing #crossover #empyrean iris #warhammer 40k

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akechicrimes · 5 years

Note

Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

Everything is the same.

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

Everything is the same.

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

#mine #slams hands on table FUTAGO SIBLINGS #futaba's dubious mental health cw #Anonymous

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lieutenantcharleslorem · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge Additional Tags: daforge - Freeform, AU, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Goblins, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Mermaids, Pirates Summary:

The Corsair ship Enterprise is not exactly a pirate ship, but they do what they have to to get by on the high seas. Without someone knowledgeable in steam mechanics that becomes even harder. Data is a gear filled robot who can be wound like a watch, and Geordi is merman who cannot see above water. But perhaps this odd friendship could solve some of their problems.

Hi! This was written for a commission for @datalaur. This takes place in a weird vaguely steampunk, D&D type universe where certain alien species names are interchangeable with mythological names like trolls and goblins, and everyone calls Data a robot. The world building isn't perfect, but I still think it's a good time. 💜 (Here’s a link to chapter two)

CHAPTER ONE

The sea rippled in the wind, and the ship creaked as the sails were turned.

“Captain,” said the first mate, “We can’t go on like this.”

“What do you want me to do, Will? Stop and ask for directions?”

“It’s not just that. When we go into battle, we can’t have you and the rob’ut shoveling coal.”

“There’s so much more to it than that.”

“Well then? That’s my point. We’ve got to replace O’Brien. I know you were holding out hope, but when we dock at the ninth port again, sure he’ll sing songs, and welcome us like old friends, but he’s not gonna be convinced to go back to the life of a corsair. Not now that he found someone who could love that ugly mug of his.”

The Captain sighed. “You’re right. But Data knows this ship better than anyone—”

“The rob’ut can’t fix himself, Picard,” Riker spat. He steeled himself and tried to speak more respectfully. “We need a new crew member. Even if he doesn’t know the engines, if he’s got a mind to learn, if he can figure Data’s gears, he can pick up slack. Because we need you both on deck, sir.”

“Captain, I’m afraid I have to concur.” The gears in Data’s shoulders creaked as he turned the wheel and changed their course. “Not only that we need an extra crewman, but that we should stop and ask for directions.”

“Data…” Picard said, frustrated, “Who do you suppose we ask. A siren?”

“I propose we anchor along this approaching landmass,” replied Data. “There are signs of life.”

Picard removed his spyglass from his pocket and took a look at the approaching shore. There was smoke in the distance and a path cut through the trees. There was no way to tell if these people were friendly, but they were certainly people.

But Captain Picard was nothing if not an adventurer. If he had been afraid to meet new and mystical species on faraway shores, he never would’ve found Data, or Worf. Even Troi was half Elvin, and they’d all learned to live with her mind trickery. While the old girl, Enterprise, was just beginning to take on this diversity, Picard suspected there were pirate and privateer ships in which humans were the minority.

When they anchored a few hours later, the crew was informed to sit tight while the Captain and Worf sought out the people to make sure it was safe.

The first thing Worf noticed about the locals was that they didn’t seem all that mysterious. They looked human. The only difference being that his humans kept themselves better trimmed.

“Trespassers,” said one of the men.

“We mean no disrespect,” said Picard, putting his hands up to show his open palms. “We’ve only lost our way. We don’t mean to intrude.”

“You have a Klingon with you,” said one of the women.

“This is Worf,” said the captain. “He is a friendly Klingon. He wasn’t even raised on the mountains of Kronos. He was raised among humans.”

Worf nodded. He resented his trustworthiness being equated with how human he may be, but now was not the time to be offended.

“What are you doing here?” asked the man.

“We’re lost,” said Picard. “We’ve been tasked to find the Goblin homeland. They’ve stolen some inventions—”

“They’ll gut you for your latinum.”

“Alas, we have none at the moment. We will be paid for retrieving the machinery.”

“They won’t stop to find out what’s in your pockets. They’d sell the clothes off your corpse.”

“We are familiar with the goblins, and their confrontation tactics,” said Worf, “Money is no doubt the reason for their thieving, not a hope for technological advancement. However, were they to sell to an enemy, the human government would not be pleased.”

“I see. Privateers then?”

“You could say that,” said Picard with a smile.

“Hmm, the kind of privateers who are also pirates, or the kind with a certain code of conduct?”

Picard and Worf shuffled their feet.

“It depends on your definition of pirate,” said Worf. Picard shot him a look that told him to keep his mouth shut.

“We definitely have a code of conduct,” Picard assured them. “You have nothing to fear from us. We’re only asking a little help…”

“You’ve gone too far,” said the woman.

“Excuse me?” asked Picard, wondering what he could have possibly said to prompt this response.

“You’ve gone too far,” she repeated. “That’s how you got confused. You went too far north. It happens. Goblins are southeast of us. We could maybe mark it on a map, but can’t say how accurate it would be. None of us are cartographers.”

“If you’re willing to look at a map that would be great. But you’ve already helped. Thank you,” said Picard.

“You look weary,” said one of the men.

“You might stay,” said the other. “Assuming you are not pirates.”

“Oh, oh that’s very generous, but we should be on our way,” replied Picard.

“Suit yourself, but Jeham used to live the ship life, and any chance to spend a moment on land was cherished later when the chances didn’t come. If you would like to stay a short while we would not object.”

“Well… I don’t know how much time we can waste. But we will tell the crew that they are free to explore for the time being.”

“Explore?” asked the woman.

“Would that be a problem?”

“No,” said the man. “But there are some areas that are… not as safe.”

Picard nodded, not wanting to make a fuss. “Worf, why don’t you go back to the ship and let the crew know we’re welcomed.”

“But Captain—”

“I’m sure I’m safe with our new friends, Mr. Worf.”

Worf looked back and forth between them, nodded, and disappeared through the trees.

“I never asked your names. I am Jean-Luc Picard.”

“I mentioned Jeham,” said one of the men, pointing a thumb to the other. “And my name is Di.”

“And I’m Reese,” said the woman.

That evening they sat around a large fire. Some stood, some walked around, but they fit nearly 200 people into a clearing, Picard’s salty crew mingling idly with this sandy group of families. The doctor had disappeared somewhere. The Captain hoped she was having fun. Data stood very close to the circle around the fire, wanting to be included, but not wanting to take a warm place to sit from someone who would be comforted by it.

“May I ask you a question?” said Data quietly.

“Only if we can ask a few back,” said Reese.

“Of course, please do. I was wondering, you do not look terribly different from us, and you speak human, but—”

“We are human,” replied Di.

“This is only a settlement,” said Jeham. “I used to work on a ship too, but I’d been looking for an out for a while when my ship stopped here. I decided to stay, after I met everyone.”

“Most of the originals came to get away from the black fog of the big cities. We live a little simpler here,” said Di.

Data’s face fell, if only minutely, and he said, “You came here to get away from machinery.”

“Perhaps, you could say that,” said Reese, “But we have no problem with machines. Only the smell of industry.”

“What are you?” asked Di, standing up to look more closely at Data’s skin, “A robot?”

“Yes.”

“Who made a thing like you? Is he with the crew?” asked Reese.

“No. My creator was lost at sea many years ago.”

Di reached out and ran a finger along Data’s forehead and down his nose. “You’re not like any robot I’ve ever seen.”

“I wouldn’t imagine we’re up on the latest trends, Di,” said Reese.

Di continued trailing his finger down Data’s face, and Data resisted the urge to shudder when he reached his lips. Though he would’ve preferred Di ask permission, he couldn’t deny that in some ways Data enjoyed the stimulation to his- his what, he wasn’t sure. He had speculated that he had artificial nerve endings, but it was far beyond the realm of any science in the land. There were rumors on the ship that Soong had not just used engineering, but magic to bring Data to life. But if it was true, that didn’t change that the robot still needed to be wound.

As the feel of Di’s fingers on his neck suddenly became absent, Data realized he had shut his eyes. He opened them abruptly and whispered. “I am… one of a kind.”

The captain cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should do a little exploring in the morning before we leave. Get some exercise before we have to be cooped up on the ship. If you could suggest any trails…?”

“We could take you to look at some pretty areas, but you shouldn’t go off alone,” said Reese.

“Oh, I’m sure we could handle any animals that might come our way.”

“It’s not that,” said Di. “You don’t want to go very far from shore. You don’t want to get near the water.”

“Water?” asked Worf, “What do you mean near water but away from the shore? That does not make sense.”

“There is something of a lake, but it drains in from the ocean and it is quite deep.”

“Everyone on our crew can swim… Except for Alyssa,” said Data.

“It’s not about that either. This is the good water.” Di gestured behind him. They couldn’t see the shore through the trees but knew it was in that direction. “It’s mighty shallow. Just stay away from the rivers and estuary. They’re deep.”

There was an awkward silence as they tried to figure out if they should keep asking questions, and then there was another voice in the darkness.

Troi walked up to the fire seemingly out of nowhere. Her skin appeared to glow in the fire light, and they could see the smallest bit of her brazier at the opening of a men's collared shirt that was a little too big for her. She whispered, “I get the sense you don’t actually want us to know why we shouldn’t see these deep waters.”

“It’s the creatures,” said Jeham.

“Jeham,” warned Di.

“What kind of creatures?” asked Picard.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of sirens,” said Reese.

Data cut in, “The captain mentioned them this morning.”

“Then you know.”

“I know of myth,” said Picard. “I know of imaginary creatures,”

“I doubt you’re so cynical. With a Klingon, and your mechanical man. You would question the possibility that sirens exist?”

“An entire race that is solely female and dedicated to killing sailors? I’m afraid it does cast some doubt.”

“They aren’t only female,” said Jeham. “And they’re not sirens… They’re merfolk. They’re just a species like any of the ones we’ve seen. We’ve all met groups of people that seemed scary,” he glanced at Worf, “and we’ve all met people with a special ability or two.” Now he looked at Deanna but looked away when she caught his eye.

“Well, now you make it sound like they’re just new friends to make.”

“No,” said Di. “People have tried. The merfolk seem friendly sometimes. But this is where the siren myths come from. They’re intelligent. They make you feel things. They can control your emotions.”

“I have no emotions,” said Data.

“Excuse me?”

“They could not possibly control my emotions; I am not capable of feeling emotions, as I am a machine.”

Di sighed. This conversation had gone on longer than he would have liked.

“Fine,�� he said, “Chance it, Robot. But don’t blame me when you are dragged into the sea.”

“Well, perhaps if we have time,” said Data.

Troi slid into the circle and sat down in front of the fire. “Now what are the chances that you lovely people happen to have marshmallows?”

Things had stayed friendly and hours later, after everyone had agreed to call it a night, Data sat in front of the dying fire.

Since he didn’t sleep, he was often presented with extra time to occupy while those around him were unconscious. On the ship he usually continued navigating.

There was a pull on the gears of his ticking brain. Almost a tingle to his mind. He wondered, if he were human, would this be the need to be rebellious? After all, he was never a child, neither a teenager.

He needed, like an unquenchable curiosity, to go find the deep waters Di and the others had spoken of. He wasn’t afraid of what he might find there, for he couldn’t feel fear. Even if he could, he also couldn’t feel pain, so there was really nothing to be afraid of.

He got up quietly after the fire had gone out. He didn’t want to ruin their fire pit by extinguishing it or leave it unattended while burning. But now, in the light of only the moon he got up quietly and crept beyond the clearing, heading away from the shore.

It might have taken a biological being a few hours to navigate through the many trees and over jagged rocks, but Data did not tire, and found the estuary before sunrise.

The water here seemed different than that which he had sailed on for many years. This was eerily calm, and the moon shone off it in such a way that made it appear to glow.

Data sat down at the edge of the water, and waited. Nothing happened, but that was okay. He thought about navigation, and the mission they were on, and watched the sunrise.

Just as he was thinking perhaps he should return to the clearing, something in the water moved. Slowly a dark face emerged, with completely gray eyes, like nothing Data had ever seen.

“Are you waiting for someone?” the being asked.

“I suppose I was waiting for you,” replied Data.

“I've never heard your voice,” he didn’t look directly at Data as he spoke. “You don’t live here.”

“No, I’m a corsair.”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”

“I sail… on an independent ship.”

“You’re a pirate,” said the man in the water.

“… We don’t like to hurt people.”

“I’m not here to judge you.”

“What are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You are a merman?”

“If the name suits you.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Do you?”

“My name is Data.”

“A name befitting a mechanical man.”

“You knew I was a robot?”

“I can hear your body tick.”

“But you cannot see me.”

“Merpeople don’t see the same way land folk do.”

“Oh, I understand.”

“Mm, I doubt that.”

“Well, it is true that I probably cannot imagine how you process sensory input, but I also can’t imagine how any biological being does such things.”

“You experience your senses differently than everyone you meet, don’t you?”

“I have yet to meet anyone like me. Other robots do not…”

“They do not compare.”

“I suppose not. Some people think my creator was a genius. Others think he was mad. I’m sorry to say I am sometimes in the latter category… You never told me your name.”

“Geordi.”

“Is that a common merfolk name?”

“Not particularly.”

“I understand that you see differently than humans, but it appears as though you do not see me at all.”

“I saw you when I approached, but we are adapted to the water. We lose certain things above it. But others change. Everything is louder above water as well.”

“If I were human I would get in with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I would hold my breath, and swim with you, so we could see each other properly. But I can’t get water in my gears.”

“Sailing seems like an odd job for someone who can’t get wet.”

“Well, I can get a little wet. But it could be troublesome to be fully submerged. It’s correct that if I fell overboard, I would most likely die, but that is true of most of the crew when on the high seas.”

“You’re quite the interesting device, aren’t you Data?”

Data didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” Geordi said suddenly. “That was rude.”

Data smiled even though he knew Geordi couldn’t see it. Just acknowledging that it was possible to be rude to him was more than some people gave him.

“I’ve been called worse than a device,” said Data. “And definitely worse than interesting.”

“Well, you are. Interesting, I mean.”

“I find you fascinating as well.”

“I’m really interested in mechanology. I hope you don’t mind me saying. It’s just, that sort of learning is limited when you live in water.”

“I would imagine.”

“I’d love to get a look inside you. I mean… that came out wrong.”

“You do not have to worry about offending me. I have learned over my time as a corsair, that it is not the words, but the feeling behind them.”

“Well, I mean, I can’t really get a look.”

“Figure of speech, I assumed.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it would be terribly invasive to… to…”

“Examine my mechanics? If it were something you would enjoy, and you would not change anything—”

“Oh, of course not! I would never tamper with you without your permission.”

“Then you may open the compartment on my back,” Data said, unbuttoning his doublet. “I only ask that you dry your hands first.”

Geordi’s eyes widened. “Yes, yes of course I will.” He floated awkwardly for a moment before scrambling to get up onto land with Data. He fumbled as he couldn’t see the edge of the rock. Hands reached out and took hold of him around the waist. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve guessed them biological hands. The only sign that there was a difference was how effortlessly Data lifted Geordi out of the water, and sat him gently next to him.

Geordi’s tail hung off the edge and into the water but the rest of him was visible, and Data took in the details before handing Geordi a handkerchief and turning away from him.

He pulled the silk shirt he’d been wearing under his doublet over his head, not bothering with the buttons. Geordi finished drying his hands and felt out in front of him. He slid his hands down Data’s smooth back, finding in the middle, something like a key.

There was that feeling of Data being touched again, but this time it was invited.

“Does this keep you going?” Geordi asked, fingering the key.

“Yes, turned clockwise it winds my gears, but if you turn it counterclockwise—”

“I can unscrew it and open this hatch. And it won’t cause you any problems?”

“No.”

Geordi did as Data said, placing the key off to the side, and sliding open a door in his back. Data had of course been worked on and examined before, but this was somehow different. Geordi had to feel the parts to understand what was in front of him and Data could almost feel it himself. Geordi’s soft slick hands running along the springs and wires.

“There’s lots I could do back here,” Geordi said lazily fumbling over some screws. “Are you always so trusting with people you’ve just met?”

“No,” Data replied, eyes closed, “Never.” And it almost sounded breathy to Gerodi’s ears.

“Well, I’ll take this as a compliment… Ow.” Geordi pulled his hand away abruptly.

Data glanced back and saw Geordi put his finger in his mouth.

“You have burned yourself.”

“Nah,” said Geordi. “Just hurt for a second.” He went back to his examinations. “I see, so you breathe to keep this cool right here.”

“Yes.”

“It’s like you’ve got a little engine roaring away inside you. It’s amazing.”

“Do you… know anything about engines?”

“A little. I’d love to learn more.”

“Data!” said a voice in the distance. It was the captain.

“I have to go now,” Data told Geordi, like he was telling a playmate that his mom said dinner was ready.

Geordi nodded and shut the compartment. He felt around for the key before fumbling to screw it back in for Data. Once it was in he kept turning.

“All wound up.”

“Thank you,” Data whispered.

“Data?” shouted Dr. Crusher.

“I am here,” replied Data pulling on his shirt. “No need to go any further, I will come to you.”

He buttoned only a few of the buttons on his doublet before going to stand, but Geordi stopped him while he was still on his knees. He reached out and took Data’s hand.

“Will you be back?” Gerodi asked.

“Back?”

“Will I see you again? I’ve never met anyone like you.”

It wasn’t lost on Data that the merman called him one instead of thing. Data had to admit that though he had only known the being for all of 20 minutes, he wanted to promise he would be back. But it was not a promise he knew he could keep.

Data debated whether he would be overstepping a boundary for .3 seconds, and then decided to place a hand on Geordi’s cheek. “I will try,” he said honestly. Geordi shivered. “You are cold. You should return to the water.”

“Data, please inform us of your location,” said the captain.

“I will be right there, Captain.”

Geordi stayed on land for a few more moments to listen to the sound of Data’s footsteps as he walked away.

Beyond some rocks in the thick of trees and vines, Data found the captain and the doctor searching for him.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, Captain.”

“Out looking for mermaids, Data?” said the Captain with a smirk.

“Of course not, Captain. I would never go looking for something someone told me could be dangerous.” Data had recently begun to master facetiousness. He found it easier than sarcasm, because it didn’t require the same bite.

“Oh!” replied the doctor with a smile, “Of course not.”

“Well, I hate to interrupt our recreation, but we’re trying to get some maintenance done as quickly as possible so that we can be back on the sea before noon.”

“Captain, will we be coming back?” asked Data.

“Back?”

“To this shore…”

“There were no plans to. I know this is no concern of yours, but it depends on where our next meal is coming from.”

“I understand, this little village, of sorts, is not particularly profitable.”

Data was silent for the rest of the morning as they prepared to leave. He spared one passing glance at the shore as he steered the ship back onto the high seas.

With the locals’ changes to their maps they were able to find goblin territory faster than they expected. They came into port in the late afternoon as the sun was setting, and they had a plan before midnight. Goblins were ruthless, but they were also easily scared.

They would beat them at their own game, and retrieve the technology from right under their noses. Under cover of darkness, the captain, Riker, Data, and Worf, crept through the city. They took along a few crewmen who were new to the seas but could provide a little muscle. All of them pulled up their hoods against the rain. They’d been told before they came that it never stopped raining in goblin territory. But they hurried despite their discomfort. They could not be seen under any circumstances. This was not a place they could blend in. Their height alone would make them stand out to any goblin.

They inched into the building where they’d heard it was being held. They were fairly certain the goblins they’d interrogated were telling the truth. It had taken what little latinum they had left, but every goblin has their price.

Inside there were many locking mechanisms, but it was nothing Data couldn’t handle. Though he hadn’t been designed for theft, thieving from thieves brought exceptions. Being a corsair brought oh so many exceptions.

Coming down a hall, lit only by a torch, was the final door. Behind it should be the stolen machine. It was wood, and shorter than human doors, as had been all the doors in the building. It was covered in chains which the goblins no doubt thought were strong. Worf took a chain in hand on one side, and Data took it on the other. Pulling against each other like they might play tug-o-war, one of the links near the middle gave way and opened, and the chains fell apart.

The captain pushed the door open and ducked into the room. The device’s silhouette was monstrous in the darkness of the room, but Picard could tell they could get it through the door if they carried it on its side. After all, the goblins had to have gotten it in here somehow.

Squeezing it through the door and down the hall with the strength of a robot, a Klingon, a Bolian, and 3 humans was easier than expected. They shuffled out of the building, and were almost home-free when they heard a footstep.

A little clay colored boy with the biggest ears they’d ever seen screeched and pointed at them. Suddenly the sound stopped and the boy was on the ground. Worf had put down his corner of the device and hit the little goblin in the back of the head. He flinched as he looked at him. No one on the ship enjoyed when their adventures came to such things. Stealing and defending oneself was one thing but hurting innocent people never felt good.

“He should be fine,” whispered Data.

Worf nodded and picked up his end again and they were able to get it onto the ship uninterrupted.

As they rushed out of dock, wind in their sales, it almost seemed too easy. The simplicity was almost dreamlike, being so unsettling and anxiety inducing, that it was almost a relief when they heard goblins shouting in the distance. Something about profit.

And then, there was just enough light from the moons to see a ship gaining on them. It was a strange looking ship, with little cohesion, different colors and shapes that reminded them of other races they’d met along the way. It was almost as if the goblins had built the ship from spare parts of other ships they’d come across, purchased, or robbed.

The word Ferengi was messily painted on the side. It must’ve meant something in the goblin language, but they didn’t know what, and didn’t have time to think about it.

There was yelling and swift conversations as they heard cannons go off. Were they out gunned? Could they call someone for help? Goblins had always seemed so cowardly, but there had been a feeling in the air, and now it seemed inevitable that they had underestimated them.

While people on the Enterprise were loading cannons, Riker took the wheel, and the captain told Data to go change the direction of the sails. Data nodded and ran to the ropes. Just as he was finishing, he heard Troi shout, “What’s going on?”

“The goblins,” he replied. “Help with cannons!”

Looking at her when he spoke, he was caught off guard when the entirety of the Enterprise shook with a particularly well aimed cannon ball. The ship lurched, and Data tried to grab onto the rope, but his hands missed it by a centimeter. Data went toppling into the water, Troi running to the railing after him, but knowing there was nothing she could do.

“Data!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

He could hear faintly the water muffled warbling of Troi explaining to someone, “The robot, he’s gone overboard!” before he became waterlogged and shut down.

Data assumed this would be the end of his experiences.

-Chapter Two-

#star trek the next generation #data #geordi #daforge #faniction #Star Trek #Star Trek The Original Series #ST:TOS

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